Malfoy's Redemption
by GodIsGayQueenB
Summary: Draco Malfoy gave up on who he was supposed to be. That hadn't truly been Draco Malfoy anyway. But now Draco is tasked with several problems: Would anyone believe he'd changed? How could he make amends? But new dangers present themselves to Harry Potter even after the fall of Voldemort. 8th year. HP/DM, RW/HG, GW/LL, past HP/GW. Based on Trumblr prompt. Published on Wattpad.
1. Prologue

**Hey Guys!**

**This story was originally published on Wattpad under the same username: GodIsGayQueenB. Because I just copied and pasted the writing from there onto here, all the words in italics did not convert. Sorry about that! I may get around to italicizing the rest of the story (I already did for this chapter), but for all chapters that I don't change or any thoughts/emphasis/etcetera that I miss, sorry! Also, I wrote this a while back (this story was actually the first I ever finished/published), so please excuse any grammar/spelling mistakes!**

**Anyway, enjoy!**

* * *

The war was over; Draco Malfoy should be safe.

Except he wasn't. The constant threat of Azkaban loomed over him and his mother, Narcissa Malfoy. Lucius Malfoy, Draco's father, had already been sentenced to fifteen years in Azkaban for his crimes. No matter what his wife and son had done to help the Boy Who Lived, he had not aided them enough in their small acts of rebellion. He would be punished accordingly.

Meanwhile, Narcissa and her son were being monitored. As if they had any inclination to go back to the dark side.

Frowning, Draco rolled up his left sleeve, exposing the black mark branded on his otherwise unblemished skin. He felt a surge of fear mingled with even more guilt, the feeling he got every time his eyes rested upon the tattoo. Oh how he loathed the mark, with it's skull and snake! Oh how he loathed himself for being so foolish and taking it with pride! With _pride!_

Tugging the sleeve down, Draco glared at his olive green bed sheets. He was alone in his grand bedroom, and he found himself, yet again, lost in thought, occasionally taking out his anger on the inanimate objects laying around the room.

Which is what he did just now.

The heavy book that had previously laid atop his bed went flying, shattering an ornamental vase perched on his dresser. He hardly noticed, however: he had many more important matters at hand.

He'd been such a fool in his past years, and he knew it. How could he had ever possibly deluded himself into thinking that joining the Dark Lord was an honor? Why had he taken it upon himself to complete the Dark Lord's mission, when Albus Dumbledore could have protected him all along? In fact, he could've gone to Harry Potter for help, his long-time enemy, and he would've been fine! Better, he could've gone to Luna Lovegood!

He recalled the time when he and Luna had met by pure coincidence in Flourish and Blotts, the Wizard bookshop, in Diagon Alley. He'd felt very awkward at first, seeing her examine the shelves and humming a tune, but he eventually mustered enough courage to apologize to her for what he did. And although she'd been prisoner in his family's cellar for some time during the war, although she had every reason to hate him and push him away with disgust, she had been kind and polite to him. She's accepted his meager, "Sorry," and had asked him how he'd been, what he'd been doing, if he needed help finding the book his was looking for...

Draco had answered each one of her questions and, in a matter of minutes, she'd been on her way, but not before making sure Draco had found his book. He barely noticed it in his shock, however. He'd been completely flabbergasted.

Luna's forgiveness had opened a realm of possibilities to him. If she had forgiven him, was it possible for others to as well? After many weeks of pondering and pacing and several more broken objects, Draco had come to one, simple conclusion: he had to try.

So when his Hogwarts letter had arrived for the eighth year running (with a hasty explanation of the additional year due to the fact that many pupils' studies had been interrupted by the war), he'd accepted immediately.

Standing, Draco began to pace his room. His whole life he'd been told to uphold his family honor. He'd been pressured to be what the Wizarding World had expected him to be: the perfect Malfoy heir. But that image they'd had hadn't been him, not really.

The real Draco Malfoy—he wasn't sure who that was anymore. The thought made him freeze. How could he have had on a facade for so long that he'd forgotten who he truly was?

_Well,_ he thought,_ I'm done._

He was done being what his mother had taught him to be, what his father expected him to be, and what the rest of Wizarding World thought him to be. He didn't want to be a perfect son, a successful Ministry worker, or a Death Eater. And, in that moment, the careful plan his mother and father had laid out for him to follow since the day of his birth was dismantled with a single thought:

_I'm done._


	2. Chapter 1-New Discoveries

HARRY

_September First, Three Weeks Later_

Harry gaped at the boy sitting at the Slytherin table. Ron and Hermione followed suit, just as flabbergasted.

The boy that held their attention was Draco Malfoy. Except—he wasn't. He couldn't be.

Malfoy had changed, to say the least. In fact, the entire hall was staring at him in amazement. Perhaps it was his new choice of attire: gone were the usual black, gray, white, and occasional green shirts that he usually adorned. Instead he wore a light blue long-sleeved shirt. And he no longer wore the perfectly tailored pants and sleek, black boots; ripped jeans and casual joggers replaced them.

Or perhaps it was the fact that his normally perfect, sleeked-back, blond hair had been abandoned in favor of a messy style and been dyed a bright blue.

Harry had a strong suspicion it was mostly the latter.

Finding himself unable to turn away, he hardly noticed the soft muttering taking place behind him between his housemates. All he could do was watch as Zabini struck up a conversation with Malfoy, seemingly just as stunned as the rest of the hall. As Harry watched, he saw Malfoy wave Zabini away with a frown, shaking his head absently. Zabini, although it was hard to tell from across the hall, looked annoyed. He said something to Malfoy, but he ignored him, much to Zabini's chagrin.

Harry finally forced himself to turn back to his fellow Gryffindors and join their whispered conversation.

"—why's he changed?" Ron was wondering. "Feels a little regret I suppose—? "

"Oh he definitely feels regret," Harry chimed in. "You didn't see him back in the Astronomy Tower in sixth year. But as to why— " He shook his head.

"It's definitely strange," Ron agreed. He glanced at the Great Hall's doors. "I wish they'd hurry up. I'm starving."

"You're always starving, Ron," said Hermione, exasperated.

"That doesn't make it any less painful."

Hermione simply rolled her eyes at her boyfriend. She and Ron, having finally seen sense, had spent lots of time together over the summer. It had made Harry feel a bit like a third-wheel, but at least he still had Ginny...

Ginny, with her flaming red hair and fun personality. Ginny, with her incredible skills on the Quidditch Pitch as Chaser. Ginny laughing with him, talking to him, kissing him...

Harry couldn't believe how lucky he was to have her. He loved simply being with her; it was infatuating. Yet, for some reason, she seemed to be slipping away, as though they were standing on the edge of a cliff, and only one strong burst of wind was all it would take to send them spiraling down... down... down...

For as much as he loved being with Ginny as his friend, he wasn't sure he loved being with Ginny as his girlfriend.

And poor Hermione was still searching for her parents in Australia. He wished he could help, but Hermione had refused when he'd asked.

"They're my parents, Harry," she said. "I did this to them, I need to fix it."

Harry shook himself back to the present; those were thoughts for another time. Presently, the doors to the Great Hall opened; he turned. The first years trooped in, led by Professor Slughorn. They (including Slughorn, though he was better at hiding it) all looked absolutely petrified. Harry smiled, remembering when he'd first come to Hogwarts. He'd been just as nervous, if not more.

Slughorn, having reached the front of the Hall, turned to face at the assembled crowd.

"When I call your name—come forth—simply place the hat upon your head and you will be sorted into your houses," he said. Then, squinting at the long scroll in his hand, he called, "Abernathy, Jocelyn!"

A small, rather mousy looking girl approached the stool with trembling legs. No sooner had the hat been placed upon her head when it called, "RAVENCLAW!"

The Ravenclaw table cheered.

"Burthcote, Freddie!"

"GRYFFINDOR!"

"Bell, Amanda!"

"SLYTHERIN!"

And so the sorting continued, Ron glaring murderously at the first years with whom the hat took its time to contemplate which house they would be sorted into. Finally, it was over, and Slughorn carried the hat and stool from the Hall just as Professor McGonagall, the new Headmistress, stood.

"There will be time for more announcements after the feast, but I would first like to say a few long-overdue words to honor the greatest Headmaster this school has ever seen!" she called, her voice echoing around the Hall. "Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!"

And with Dumbledore's words ringing in their ears, the feast began.

Harry couldn't help but smile.

* * *

The next week passed in a blur with nothing unusual happening. Classes went on as normal, a mountain of homework was piled on the eighth years, and Harry spent time with Ron, Hermione, and Ginny. He found himself constantly wondering what this year's adventure would be before reminding himself that Voldemort was gone; there was no reason to worry.

He liked it that way.

No lies. No constant threat of death. No reason to worry. All was well.

Of course, his days weren't completely stress-free. Between his piles of homework, his second thoughts about his relationship with Ginny, and the constant pondering about what he would do once he left the castle, he had plenty to keep himself occupied. So when Draco Malfoy decided to add himself to his list, Harry was furious.

It was Friday, and the final class was double Potions with the Slytherins. Harry and the rest of his housemates had been lucky to avoid them all throughout the week so far, but they should have known their luck would only last for so long.

Professor Slughorn was dumbfounded. How was it that his favorite student's skills in potions dropped so significantly? He had no excuse for it now, no claims of it simply being a case of lovesickness or stress like he'd thought it was in Harry's sixth year. Harry was struggling, cursing the book for being wrong. He wished he had the Half-Blood-Prince's book—no, Snape's book—with him still, but he knew it was gone. There was no way it had survived the Fiendfyre. He supposed he should probably explain things to Slughorn. After all, he had cheated...

But this endeavor was quickly forgotten, for Zabini had begun a tirade of taunting.

"Hey, Potter," he sneered. "Should I lick your shoes, Potter? Should I bow down to you and claim you as my almighty king? Or should I kneel to the Blood-Traitor or Mudblood instead?"

Fuming, Harry turned to glare at Zabini, who began reenacting things with a sing-song voice.

"Bow down to the almighty Potter, defeater of the Dark Lord! Kneel at the feet of the disgusting Mudblood, that filth— "

Ron, beside him, let out a growl and turned as well, opening his mouth furiously, but before he could speak, another's quiet voice rang around the dungeon.

"Shut up, Blaise."

The class, dumbfounded, turned to see that it was, indeed, Draco Malfoy who spoke, looking calm and collected. Yet his eyes held an unspoken challenge.

Zabini seemed just as astonished as the rest of the class. Quickly gathering his wits about him, he said, "Well gee, Draco, I'd known you'd gone soft, but to actually defend the Mudblo— "

"Don't say that word!" Malfoy snapped, glaring.

Harry could hardly believe his ears. He couldn't possibly have just heard Malfoy, of all people, defend Hermione. Malfoy, who had called Hermione a Mudblood in his second year; Malfoy, who had taunted Harry more times than he could count; Malfoy, who had actually joined the Death Eaters—

No, it must be a mistake.

Zabini just shook his head and turned back to his own cauldron. The rest of the class followed suit, muttering amongst themselves. But Harry, Ron, and Hermione met Malfoy's eyes.

He gave them a curt nod before returning to his cauldron.

But Harry continued watching Malfoy out of the corner of his eye, thinking that perhaps Malfoy had changed on the inside as well.

* * *

DRACO

Unsurprisingly, Blaise tracked him down for his antics in the potions classroom. Two hits were all he gave him, one in the gut and one on the face. Draco took them with little restraint, although he wasn't sure why he didn't fight back. Maybe it was because Blaise had been his friend for years. Whatever the case, he took the blows and was on his way, but not before Blaise had threatened him.

_You'll get off worse next time,_ he'd growled.

Draco gulped. For Slytherins, worse only meant two things: one, an injury, or two, public embarrassment. And Slytherins tended to come up with great ways to embarrass others.

He sat in the Slytherin Common Room, the words of his essay were swimming before him. Sitting beside the warm fire, he'd just started completing his mountain of homework. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't concentrate.

It wasn't as though this hadn't happened before. He'd been hit by his bloodthirsty housemates, Pansy and Blaise, more times than he could count. And he wasn't the only one. Even Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle, those giants, hadn't escaped Pansy's and Blaise's claws.

However, the fact was that Vincent and Gregory and the rest of his housemates had less to fear from being punished. Draco, however, had lots to worry about. Because Pansy and Blaise knew about his Dark Mark, and if they chose to humiliate him, which they would, no doubt...

He swallowed, suddenly jerking his hands away from his forearm, where he'd been rubbing the Mark absentmindedly. Glancing around quickly to make sure nobody had seen, he met Blaise's and Pansy's stares. They both gave him two, identical, slow smiles.

Draco looked away, his heart pounding. There was another thing about him, another thing they could use against him if they knew... But they couldn't know, could they? He hadn't even told his own parents. How could they possibly know? He sighed in relief. That secret, at least, was safe.

Blinking rapidly, he turned his attention back to his homework. _Other ingredients used in the Draught of Living Death—_

With a sigh, Draco leaned down, jotting down the word _includes_. Includes... includes what? He closed his eyes, rubbing his temples. He knew this... of course he knew this... Potions is his best subject...

But he couldn't think. With an angry groan, he snapped his book shut. He'd work on it tomorrow.

Gathering up his books, quills, ink, and parchment and shoving them into his bag, he stalked to his dormitories, doing his best to pretend as though Blaise and Pansy were not watching his every move.

As soon as he'd dumped his bags unceremoniously on the floor, drawn his curtains closed, and cast several spells to keep unwanted visitors out, he collapsed in a heap on his bed and fell fast asleep.

* * *

HARRY

The next few weeks passed without much excitement. Homework was piled on seventh years even more than before, causing Harry, Ron, and Hermione to spend many laborious hours trapped inside the Gryffindor Common Room. Yet, despite the lack of danger, Harry was always on his toes, ready for some new mystery to present itself. Of course, no such mystery was unveiled, and Harry was sorely disappointed; he was already bored of the constant school work and no adventure.

Before Harry knew it, Christmas had arrived. Molly Weasley, Ron's mother, invited Harry and Hermione to The Burrow for Christmas. However, the three friends had politely declined, mutually agreeing to stay at Hogwarts.

They were in the Great Hall at the moment, eating breakfast together at the Gryffindor table and admiring the decorations. Twelve giant Christmas trees stood around the Hall, courtesy of Hagrid, and they were each decorated with silver tinsel and ornaments of every shape and size. Mistletoe and Holly had been wrapped around the banisters as usual, causing many students to construct false hope that they and the one they fancied would be caught beneath the former.

"They're not done with the decorations yet," Ron said between mouthfuls of eggs. "It's rumored that Flitwick may bring in live fairies and set them loose." Ron shuddered. "Could you imagine that? The horror— "

"Oh Ronald," Hermione sighed exasperatedly. "It's not that bad."

"That's what you think," Ron chided. "Just imagine them watching you relieve yourself— "

Hermione rolled her eyes.

"You just wait, 'Mione. You'll see. You'll see that I'm right. You just— "

"So what do you think happened to Malfoy?" Harry interrupted, not keen on the idea of listening to Ron and Hermione's bickering for the rest of the day.

In unison, the three of them turned to look at the Slytherin table. It wasn't hard to find Malfoy with his vivid blue hair. He was reading _The Daily Prophet_ while consuming a bowl of porridge, alone. Almost as though he could sense them watching him, he raised his head, locking eyes with Harry's and raising his eyebrows. For a moment, they simply stared at each other, then Malfoy shrugged and went on eating.

"I think he's up to something, if you ask me," Ron said, turning away from Malfoy. Harry and Hermione followed suit. "I mean, take that for example! No insults, no rude gestures—nothing! But, he's _Malfoy_. It's weird. Standing up for you, Hermione—not that I want him to call you a You-Know-What—but it's out of character. He's up to something," Ron concluded.

"Or maybe he could be, you know, trying to make up for his mistakes," Hermione suggested.

"Honestly, Hermione, you think everyone's a saint," Ron said. Then, after seeing Hermione's glare, he quickly corrected himself. "But it could be possible. Who are we to argue otherwise? We all know you're the brains of the group."

Harry, not knowing when he had become included in Ron's opinion, raised his eyebrows, but Ron shot him a quick glance as if to say, Work with me.

Harry rolled his eyes as Hermione smiled. He knew that she didn't really buy the sudden change of opinion, but she seemed just as tired as Harry was of her and Ron's constant bickering. Ron returned the smile in relief at the close encounter. Harry shot him a discrete thumbs up.

"Anyway," Ron said. "I'm going to keep an eye out on him. It's not that I doubt you, Hermione, but better safe than sorry, you know?"

Hermione nodded. "Don't think I'll be helping you," she said, dropping her gaze to her own copy of _The Daily Prophet_ and nibbling on her toast.

Ron grinned. "Wasn't going to ask." Then, turning to Harry, he said, "So what d'you say, mate?"

Harry sighed. "Sure. Why not?"

Ron's grin widened just as Hermione gasped.

"What?" Ron asked, digging into his eggs once more. "Hermione?"

"Oh, it's just _horrible,_" she said. "Look."

She pushed the paper towards them, letting them read.

_Mysterious Disappearance Baffles Ministry_

_Aurors have no leads on the strange disappearances of seventeen-year-old sisters Parvati and Padma Patil and their parents, Ranjit and Riya Patil. The four were last seen entering their home, the two girls having just returned to their family for the Christmas Holidays._

_"It's just terrible," says neighbor Jenny Klaus, who was the last to see the family. "I was about to bring them a freshly baked pie. To think that I might've been able to stop it had I just gone over a bit earlier—it's just hard to believe."_

_The Ministry urges anyone who thinks they may have information relevant to this case to come forward._

The article ended there, and Harry felt sick as he leaned back. _It's not Voldemort,_ he assured himself. _Voldemort's dead. You killed him. Get a grip._

"Poor Lavender," said Ron sadly.

* * *

Christmas morning arrived in a flurry of several fresh feet of snow. Ron was the first to wake, as usual. Of course, he wouldn't allow his dorm mates, consisting only of Harry and Neville (Seamus and Dean hadn't returned for their eighth year), to sleep in. Within moments they were sitting up and groaning; Ron had thrown a pillow at each of them.

Bleary eyed, Harry turned to see his small mound of Christmas presents at the foot of his bed. Suddenly feeling wide awake, he untangled himself from his sheets and bounded towards them, reaching for the topmost gift joyously. Some holidays never get old, and Harry couldn't believe he was actually getting gifts; he occasionally forgot he was free of the Dursleys forever.

The rest of the morning was spent opening presents and using—or in some cases, eating—their contents. Harry had gotten a large box of Droobles Best Blowing Gum from Ron, a book (_Jinxing Jinxes—Prank Your Friends and Foes_) from Hermione, a batch of cookies from Hagrid (which Harry ate with caution, having previous experience with Hagrid's cooking), and a box of homemade mince pies from Mrs. Weasley, along with her annual Weasley sweater.

The rest of the day was a blur of snowball fights and endless cold. By the time they became tired of fighting, it was already time for dinner. The feast was scrumptious as usual; Harry couldn't help but eat second helpings of treacle tart.

Finally, exhausted, Harry and the rest of the Gryffindors trooped back to the dormitories, collapsing on their beds before fully undressing themselves. Within moments, Harry was fast asleep, with nothing but a vanishing family and a pureblood's strange new defiance distracting him.


	3. Chapter 2-Retribution

DRACO

Christmas was over, the students had returned, and Draco had defended a first year Hufflepuff from some fifth year Slytherins yesterday. That had been his last straw. Now, all that was left to do was wait; Pansy and Blaise would be upon him soon.

Draco gulped. He was hiding in the Room of Requirement, which took shape of a cozy living room, not unlike the room he'd left back at Malfoy Manor. In it, Draco felt at peace; safe and warm.

He had never been more grateful for the many secret passageways and rooms in Hogwarts. Without them, he would've been beaten within and inch of his life weeks ago. But he was safe—at least for the moment. He would have been a fool to believe that Pansy and Blaise would give up so easily.

Draco closed his eyes. He would think of it later. Right now, he simply wished to sleep...

The room shifted, and suddenly the chair he sat in transformed into a warm bed. He curled up beneath the covers and slipped gratefully into the warm depths of sleep, not bothering to remove his clothes.

* * *

Morning came. Draco hurried down the halls for breakfast, wondering what Blaise and Pansy would have in store for him. Whatever it was, it couldn't be that bad, could it?

Draco tried hard not to think about the fact that they knew about his Dark Mark.

But his other secrets—they were safe. They _had_ to be safe. Because if they weren't—

He slipped inside the Great Hall, keeping his head down and immediately heading for the Slytherin table. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Blaise and Pansy watching him, smug smiles donning their faces. Draco didn't like the sight of that at all.

He pretended to ignore them as he sat down, pouring himself some orange juice and loading his plate full of eggs. His stomach churned at the sight of them; he didn't have much of an appetite. The worry of what Pansy and Blaise had in store for him was consuming his every thought.

Soft flapping from above—the morning post had arrived. Draco ignored it. What would they—what _could_ they—do to him? Could they really do him any harm? So what if everyone knew he was a Death Eater? He'd fought for Hogwarts in the final battle, hadn't he? Wouldn't people understand that he'd really had no choice?

Of course people wouldn't understand. Of course they could do him harm. And after all, he'd _had_ a choice, hadn't he? And what had he felt? _Pride—_

Unable to help himself, he looked up, meeting the sources of his worries' eyes. Blaise's smile widened. Pansy winked at him. Draco quickly looked down.

Only to spot a bright-red Howler on his plate.

Eyes widening, he looked up in panic to see Pansy and Blaise smirking triumphantly. _Oh no—_

But it was too late now; the Howler had exploded.

"DRACO MALFOY!"

Every head in the Hall whipped around to see Draco, frozen as his mother's voice rang out loud enough for all to hear. But it was not really his mother, he knew, for this was Pansy and Blaise's letter—

But Draco knew exactly what this Howler was going to say even before it had screamed his name—this was how his secret would be revealed.

_There are worse ways,_ he supposed.

However, that didn't stop him from wishing the voice would stop with ever fiber of his being.

"HOW DARE YOU BETRAY YOUR FAMILY!"

He hadn't betrayed them, had he—?

"YOUR FATHER AND I ARE SO DISAPPOINTED IN YOU! HOW DARE YOU BE DISLOYAL! HOW DARE YOU BE SUCH DISGUSTING FILTH! A WASTE OF SPACE AND RESOURCES, OH HOW YOUR AUNT WOULD BE TURNING IN HER GRAVE IF SHE KNEW WHAT YOU'VE DONE! SHE WAS LOYAL TO HER FAMILY AND TO THE DARK LORD! SHE DESERVED THE TRUE HONOR OF RECEIVING THE DARK MARK, UNLIKE YOU!"

Gasps from around the Hall—_no—_

"YOU ARE UNWORTHY OF IT! IT IS THE GREATEST HONOR TO HAVE SERVED THE DARK LORD, AND WHAT HAVE YOU DONE? TARNISHED THE DEATH EATERS' NAME, THAT'S WHAT, DYEING YOUR HAIR BLUE, WEARING THAT RIDICULOUS CLOTHING OF YOURS TO SPITE US! A TRUE MALFOY WOULD NEVER WEAR SUCH DISGUSTING GARMENTS!"

His family would be tried again for continuing to be loyal to the Dark Lord—his mother could go to Azkaban—_he_ could go to Azkaban—

"DON'T BOTHER COMING HOME, YOU DISGUSTING BOY! DON'T SET FOOT ON OUR DOORSTEP EVER AGAIN! YOU WILL NEVER, EVER BE WELCOME AT MALFOY MANOR EVER AGAIN YOU LOATHSOME FAGGOT!"

And with that, the screams ceased; the Howler fell to table, lifeless, and Draco Malfoy broke inside.


	4. Chapter 3-Revelations

HARRY

None of the hall moved as the Howler's magic ceased. None of them moved when the whispers and jeers broke out in a frenzy, the shocked students having recovered enough to converse about what they'd heard. For the shocking revelations had been unveiled: Draco Malfoy was a Death Eater and gay. Of course, none of the students doubted the Howler's accuracy.

However, a certain Gryffindor did move.

The school stared in shock as Harry Potter, infamously known as Draco Malfoy's long-time rival, stood and approached the Slytherin table. The school's astonishment only increased when they saw him murmur words of comfort rather than insults. The school was floored when they saw Draco Malfoy willingly leave with Harry Potter, keeping his head down and striding quickly from the Hall with Harry trailing after him. Harry pretended not to notice any of this.

He led Malfoy from the Hall, up a flight of stairs, through a tapestry, and down a corridor to an empty broom cupboard. Locking the door behind him, he sat down beside the other, being sure to place himself in a way that would leave a gap between their shoulders. He wasn't quite sure that Malfoy didn't plan to jinx him yet.

He didn't know what had made him move from his seat at the breakfast table, but he knew he'd done the right thing. And Malfoy wasn't shouting abuse and denying his help. _Maybe the war changed him more than I thought,_ came a voice in Harry's head.

Looking at the boy beside him, he knew his conjecture was correct. Malfoy was staring straight ahead, seemingly lost in horrified thoughts. His jaw was clenched, his brows furrowed, and he was sending a glare so strong to the bucket opposite him that Harry thought he might burn a hole right through the metal. Malfoy wasn't stricken with grief, he was _pissed._

It didn't take long, only mere seconds, for Malfoy to recover from his wrathful silence. Muttering a few angry words under his breath, he turned, meeting Harry's gaze with violent eyes. Harry recoiled instinctively.

But Malfoy didn't seem to have any inclinations to attack him. Instead, he simply croaked: "Why?"

"Sorry?"

"Why help me?"

Harry paused. Why had he helped him? They were enemies, after all. Yet still, the Malfoy he was enemies with didn't stand up against Blaise Zabini, especially not for Hermione Granger's sake. Nor did he dye his hair blue, and wear clothes any less of what was expected of his immaculate self.

"Because I saw you during the war," Harry finally responded. "I saw your family during the war. I knew the Howler wasn't true. Your mother was clearly ready to disown Voldemort, even then." He thought back to when she'd saved his life in the forest, knowing what would happen if her deceit was discovered.

Malfoy looked down, shaking his head. "You're right. It wasn't true. It was sent to me by Pansy and Blaise."

"Oh," was all Harry could think to say in reply. For a few moments, they sat there in silence, Malfoy twiddling his thumbs and Harry simply watching him with interest. Finally, he asked, "Why?"

Malfoy looked up, meeting Harry's eyes yet again. Harry suddenly realized this was the most civilized conversation they'd ever had.

"Why did Pansy and Blaise send it to me?" Draco sighed. "Because I've been standing up for Muggleborns."

_Muggleborns,_ Harry noted. _Not Mudbloods._

"And why are you protecting them?" Harry asked.

"Maybe because I feel remorse," Malfoy snapped, his old animosity suddenly apparent once more. "Didn't think I could, eh, Potter?"

Harry shook his head quickly, not wanting to return to their old childish bickering. "No, it's just—it's out of character, that's all."

They sat in awkward silence for some more time, each avoiding the other's gaze. Malfoy visibly calmed himself, seeming to agree with Harry's attempts to keep peace.

Finally, Harry piped up, "One last thing."

"Yes?"

Gray eyes met green.

"Is it true?" Harry said in a low voice.

"Is what true, Potter?" Malfoy bit, obviously keen to avoid the subject.

Harry suddenly felt very awkward. He knew that Malfoy knew exactly what he was asking about, and he suddenly regretted saying anything in the first place. It wasn't any of his business. But his mouth didn't seem to be listening to his brain, and he found himself speaking unthinkingly.

"Are you gay?"

He could have slapped himself. _Why, why, why did I ask—_

"I don't see why that's any of your business, Potter," said Malfoy vehemently, avoiding his eyes. But Harry forced himself to speak, eyes downcast.

"I was just wondering," he mumbled. "You don't have to answer."

Malfoy gulped, looking down. His angry expression had faltered, replaced by something much more personal. He didn't want to tell him, and Harry couldn't blame him. And yet, he nodded.

Harry was surprised. Surprised he had never known, of course, but more surprised that Malfoy had actually admitted it to him.

"I don't know how they found out," Malfoy muttered. "I never told anyone! How did they find out—?"

"Maybe they just guessed," Harry supplied helpfully, shrugging. Secretly, he was relieved Malfoy didn't seem to be about to hex him.

"Guesswork is not in the Slytherin code. It's either fact or false." Malfoy snorted. "But you're a bloody Gryffindor. You wouldn't know."

"Well, actually, the Sorting Hat tried to put me in Slytherin," Harry said, mentally cursing himself as he did. Why was he telling Malfoy this? Although, he supposed he owed it to him.

Malfoy's eyes widened. Then he laughed. "Nice try, Potter. You, Slytherin! Ha!"

"I'm not joking," Harry insisted, a little irritated. "Really."

But Malfoy waved him off. "Potter, you're about as Gryffindor as they get. Please don't insult my intelligence."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Fine. Whatever."

Silence again, this time broken by Malfoy's occasional scoffs: "Honestly. Potter, in Slytherin. What an image."

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry examined Malfoy. He was smirking, as usual, but it was strained. His shoulders were slumped and his eyes were dark and shadowed. Harry wondered when was the last time the man had gotten a proper night's sleep. He didn't ask, however, knowing that to do so would be a death wish.

Malfoy sighed and looked at Harry once more. Harry lifted his head and, once again, their eyes met. This time, an unspoken agreement passed between them, the promise in Harry's eyes returned in Malfoy's.

Not friendship. Perhaps companionship. Tolerance. Conversations without constant jests and jeers and insults that rocked both of their cores. In any case, it wasn't enmity.

Harry wondered what his friends would think. That he'd gone mental, probably.

But Harry pushed those thoughts aside as Malfoy offered Harry his hand, just like he had back in first year.

This time, Harry accepted it.

* * *

Harry had been right; Ron and Hermione were shocked, to say the least.

In a secluded corner of the library, Harry had explained everything that had transpired. When he'd finished, Ron was gaping, opening and closing his mouth like a fish. Hermione, however, simply shrugged and started examining some of the books on nearby shelves.

Harry stared at her. "Aren't you a little more surprised?" he asked.

She shook her head. "Not really."

"Why not?"

Hermione smirked. "You'll figure it out eventually, Harry."

At this, Ron shook himself out of his shock and rounded on Hermione. "What do you mean? Do you know something you're not telling us?"

"Certainly I do, Ronald," Hermione said with a scoff. "But, should you wish to extract the information from me, you'll have to ask the right questions."

"Which are?" Ron inquired.

Hermione stopped eyeing the bookshelf and instead looked at Ron, grinning. "And that, my dear boyfriend, would be the perfect example of a wrong question."

Ron fumed.

"Well," Harry began, "does it have something to do with Malfoy?"

"Of course," Hermione replied.

"And the Howler?" asked Ron.

"Partly, yes."

"Does it include any of us?" Harry probed.

"Yes."

"What, is Malfoy planning to prank Harry or something?"

"No, although something of the sort is possible," she said.

Silence; both Harry and Ron were contemplating what it could possibly be. Harry was drawing up a bank, and by the look on Ron's face, he was too. Hermione sighed.

"Look, if you two haven't guessed it yet, you won't any time soon," she said. "Ask me again when you think you might know it."

Harry and Ron knew better than to push her.

"Come on," she said, standing. "We'll be late for Charms."

The spent the rest of the day doing homework, attending classes, and avoiding the other students' questioning gazes. But despite the mutterings and pointing, Harry smiled. It looked as though there would be some action this year after all.


	5. Chapter 4-Desire

DRACO

The school could barely believe it when Draco Malfoy had been spotted talking to Hermione Granger, alone and civilized, in the library a few weeks after the Howler. The rumors were churning, growing more and more absurd as time went on. The first started as something along the lines of: _Draco Malfoy is depressed and angry and Potter simply took pity on him._ Then, they escalated to things such as:_ Draco Malfoy has Harry Potter under the Imperious Curse._ Or, better yet: _Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter are dating._

Of course, no one knew that Harry and Draco had gradually gotten closer and closer, laughing these silly superstitions off. However, when the rumors that Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger were dating started circling around, Ron grew strangely quiet.

"Relax, Weasley," Draco had said, rolling his eyes. "Gay, remember?"

"Of course, of course," Ron muttered, but from then on he was decidedly less cold towards Draco.

Presently, Draco and Hermione were in the library, alone, talking about a book they had each discovered the other enjoyed immensely. It was quite peaceful, being with Hermione; she was levelheaded and easy to talk to. Draco enjoyed spending time with her.

"—and when they got trapped in that cave—and Jocelyn's betrayal! So good!" Hermione smiled. "But I'm very glad the author didn't include much drama."

Draco nodded in agreement. "Definitely. I, personally, can't stand romance novels."

"Neither can I."

Draco grinned. Hanging out with Hermione was always like this, simple and easy. At least when they weren't studying or doing homework. Then it suddenly became a game of survival, which Draco had to admit was even more fanatical than his normal study sessions were, for Draco was quite a good student, even if most of the student body didn't know. Or decided to ignore, more like.

When Draco was with Harry, however, things were a lot—funnier. Quidditch was a regular topic for conversation, and they were almost always joking about one thing or another. They rarely talked about things that actually mattered, but Draco preferred it that way. Talking about serious topics such as feelings or, worse still, the war was not his cup of tea.

And then there was the Weasel. He and Draco weren't exactly friends, which was expected since their families had been at each other's throats since before they were born. The Weasley's and the Malfoy's were supposedly always enemies, never friends, and to try to become the latter was like trying to hold water in cupped hands. They were always bickering and arguing, much to Harry's and Hermione's dismay, but Draco couldn't help it; Weasley always seemed to find a way to get under his skin.

But most of the time, hanging out with the Golden Trio was peaceful and, thankfully, argument-free. It was in such stark contrast to their past relationship, Draco sometimes wondered if he were imagining things, Weasley and all.

However, Draco had other problems besides Weasley's idiocy, problems such as two certain Slytherins that were waiting for him outside the library.

"Draco," Blaise sneered, tilting his head once mockingly.

"Blaise," Draco said, his muscles tensing. "Pansy."

Both Slytherins jeered at Draco and Hermione.

"Got yourself a girlfriend, Draco?" Pansy scorned. "I didn't realize you played for both sides—if I had, I would've included that in the Howler— "

Draco scoffed. "Is that supposed to be an insult?"

"No." Pansy lips curved up in a sweet smile. "It's a threat."

Draco laughed coldly. "You're pathetic. You think I'm going to let you blackmail me? And for what?"

Pansy's smile widened. "Oh, but see, that's where things get really good!"

Hermione tugged at Draco's sleeve. "Come on," she said, throwing Pansy a dirty look. "They haven't got anything else against you. They're bluffing."

Pansy sneered. "You must be new to the Slytherin customs, Mudblood." She turned back to Draco. "So what if most of the school is fine with disgusting fags" —Hermione moved at that, but Draco gripped her arm tightly to stop her from pouncing on the girl in front of them— "such as yourself running around. I'm sure your father won't share their sympathies."

Draco's heart stopped. Though he tried to hide it, he could feel the blood run from his face, and knew the two Slytherins could see his panic, too.

Pansy smirked, observing her nails nonchalantly. "Oh dear. Draco doesn't seem to like that idea, does he?"

"Leave him alone!" Hermione snapped, twisting her arm out of Draco's grasp and taking a few steps forward, ineffectively blocking him from harm's way. "He's done nothing to you, you foul, spineless— "

"Do you really want to finish that sentence, Granger?" said Blaise, giving Draco a strong sense of déjà vu as he remembered uttering those very same words to Hermione in their fifth year. "We just so happen to have some free time in our schedules that we could devote to you— "

"You can't do anything to me," Hermione said, lifting her chin confidently.

"Perhaps that's true," Blaise yielded with a nod, "but we'd hate for something to happen to your parents."

Hermione's face drained of color. "My parents are safe. There is nothing you can do to them." Despite her brave words, her voice shook slightly.

"Safe in Australia?" Blaise inquired, making Pansy laugh. "We know all about them, Granger. Their safe with no recollection of their past selves, no memories of their only daughter, the one who made them forget in the first place— "

_BANG._

It had happened in an instant. One moment Blaise was standing upright and jeering, taunting Hermione mercilessly in his threatening demeanor. In the next he was curled on the floor in a tight ball, convulsing and screaming in pain. His body shook and his face erupted in boils while thick, dark hair grew on his legs and forearms. He clawed at himself, and Pansy backed away in horror.

"Filthy Mudblood!" she screeched. "Disgusting, hideous worm!"

Just as suddenly as it started, it stopped. The hair receded, the boils disappeared, and Zabini stopped shaking and writhing erratically. He was left on the floor, panting and gasping in pain.

Draco gaped, flabbergasted, at Hermione, who marched up to Pansy and snarled, "You hurt them, and I'll do the same to you."

Then, with a swish of her robes, she was off, marching down the empty corridor.

Draco shook himself out of his shock. Shooting Pansy a glare, he followed Hermione, sprinting to catch up.

"That," he panted, "was awesome."

Hermione smiled. "Nice to see my hard work is appreciated."

Draco grinned.

"So there's absolutely no way you can sleep in the Slytherin dorms."

Draco sighed. "For the last time, Weasley, no. There is absolutely no way I can ever return even to its Common Room. Not without Blaise and Pansy eating me alive."

"Maybe you could sleep in the Room of Requirement," Harry proposed.

"It's a possibility," Hermione said thoughtfully. "But you'd be sort of cut off from the world. You know what the Room is like."

Draco nodded. "Trust me, I'm well acquainted with it." He'd practically lived in it in his sixth year. He supposed they were probably well aware of this fact, too, but if they did they decided not to mention it.

"Great!" Harry rubbed his hands together and stood from his position on the floor. "I'll go get the Cloak."

"The Cloak?" Weasley asked, his brows furrowed in confusion. "Why do you need the Cloak?"

"So we can sneak in the Slytherin Common Room to grab Draco's stuff."

"The Cloak? What Cloak?" Draco cut in, perplexed.

"You'll see," Harry replied with a mischievous grin.

"But shouldn't you wait 'till night, Harry?" said Hermione worriedly.

"Oh. Yeah. Right."

Harry sat back down, disappointed. They were in an empty classroom only a few corridors away from the Gryffindor Common Room. The place had become their rendezvous, and they came there regularly to complete homework or simply talk away from prying eyes. It was quite comfortable, in fact, once they got over the dust and the lack of cushions. Its chill was also slightly uncomfortable, but they'd solved that quickly with Hermione's signature blue flames, which kept them warm as they sprawled across the floor.

Draco wasn't exactly sure when the group of three friends had become four, but he didn't care. All he knew was that he was liked and included not for his reputation or out of fear, but for him. He loved the feeling. For the first time in his life, he had friends. Real, true friends that cared for him. He even appreciated Weasley. Though annoying, yes, they had made something of an unspoken pact to get along, if only for the sake of Harry's and Hermione's sanity. However, Draco still had no qualms about calling Weasley _Weasel_, just as Weasley had no regrets for calling him _Ferret_.

"Why are you so happy about your homework, Malfoy?" Weasley asked, making Draco realize he'd been grinning stupidly.

"Nothing," he replied, though his grin didn't fade in the slightest.

Weasley shook his head disbelievingly. "Honestly, you're worse than Hermione."

Hermione sighed exasperatedly, having grown used to this treatment a long time ago.

Draco rolled his eyes, half-tempted to punch Weasley in the teeth, otherwise wishing to hug him tight and thank him for being his friend. It was a strange feeling. Draco wasn't sure which one he wanted to do more.

They continued working in part silence, occasionally asking about the ingredients for the love potion, Amortentia, or how to defend against a Chimera. Finally, at half-past eleven, Harry stood and stretched.

"I'll go get the Cloak."

Within moments, he was back, holding in his hands a silvery cloth.

"Let's go."

Throwing the Cloak around his and Draco's shoulders, he left the room with a quick, "We'll be back," to Hermione and the Weasel. Draco hardly noticed, however, for he was stunned.

Harry owned an Invisibility Cloak.

A real, flawless, no doubt incredibly expensive Invisibility Cloak. The material, he could tell, was completely whole and pristine, unimpaired by holes or gaps in its spellwork. In all regards, it was completely and utterly impeccable.

"This explains so much," Draco whispered to Harry, causing the latter to chuckle. "In third year—Hogsmeade—and sneaking around the castle, going to Hagrid's hut all the time... It makes sense! Damn you, Potter!"

Harry led Draco down to the dungeons. They were almost to the concealed door before Draco realized.

"Wait... how on earth do you know where the Slytherin Common Room is?" Draco asked, even as they stood before the stone wall which concealed the entrance.

Harry snickered with amusement. "Long story. What's the password?"

"Tell me later," Draco demanded, now phenomenally curious. "And _Moonstones,_" he added, and they were in.

The Slytherins that were still awake were mystified as the door opened with no one entering. "It must be malfunctioning," they concluded. "Didn't they say the spell needed to be renewed?"

Harry and Draco sneaked up the dormitory stairs to the eighth years' dorm, which had been an unused space before it had been converted for the students of the added year. Thankfully, it was empty. Ducking from underneath the cloak, Draco hurried to his trunk while Harry locked the door.

"Quickly," Harry whispered, appearing from nowhere as he slipped off the Cloak from his shoulders. He helped Draco pack, searching his drawers and throwing their contents into the trunk.

Draco, having retrieved everything from the floor, rushed to his nightstand. Quickly, he piled its contents into the trunk, slowing as he neared the bottom, for there he kept his more precious items.

Finally, the place had been cleared. Harry bewitched the trunk to be feather-light, and he now carried it in one hand with ease. He looked at Draco. "Ready?"

But Draco wasn't ready; he was panicking. One thing had been missing from his drawers, one precious item that he valued above almost all else.

Swearing, he scanned the room. Where was it? Had Blaise taken it? It was highly likely.

He streaked over to Blaise's bed, aware that they were running out of time. Any minute now, the other Slytherin boys would be coming up to sleep—but he had to find it.

"Draco!" Harry exclaimed. "What are you doing?"

"I need—I have to find— " In his panic, he could barely form a coherent sentence.

But Harry, bless him, seemed to understand. "What does it look like?"

"It's a locket, small, gold... its charm is a small ball, not flat but round."

"Got it."

And just like that, he was helping him search. His Gryffindor loyalty was what made him so readily able to drop everything for a friend, Draco assumed, though he'd never been so grateful for what he always thought of as idiocy.

Several minutes later, after searching every nook and cranny high and low, they had to resolve that either Blaise had it on him, or Pansy had taken it. Draco swore yet again.

"Come on," Harry muttered darkly. "Maybe we'll get lucky and Blaise'll be wearing it."

Draco nodded, his throat closing up. Throwing the Cloak over them, Harry unlocked the door and they slipped out, carrying the trunk between them. They had to crouch to stay hidden, but they managed.

Draco's eyes scanned the crowd. Where was Blaise—?

There. A glint of gold, a small round ball—the locket rested on Pansy's chest. Harry's guess had been partially correct. He tapped Harry's shoulder and pointed. Harry gave him a quick nod to show that he understood. Silently, they crept up behind Pansy, hardly daring to breathe.

"—McGonagall has her favorites, of course. If only Snape had survived— "

Draco had done this before, but he couldn't stop the quick beating of his heart. Then, he'd just wanted to examine of the pretty ornament that rested glamorously upon his mother's chest. Now, there was a much deeper meaning to his intentions, with far more horrendous consequences at stake.

"I mean, we're treated like scum! We should get _some_ privileges for being pureblood— "

He winced. Had he really been like this? Had he truly believed these things? What a fool he'd been for thinking that the Dark Lord truly cared about blood status. He hadn't cared about anything but his own rise to power. What a bunch of ignorant fools...

Carefully, Draco reached out for the necklace resting against her skin, assuring himself that his hands were hidden in the Cloak's flaps. Gently, he took hold of the chain around her neck, careful not to lift it too much so that she'd be aware of it moving, and undid the clasp. Then he froze, waiting to see her reaction.

Pansy made no move to indicate that she'd felt anything. Draco internally sighed in relief. Now, if he could just remove the necklace without anyone noticing—

But that would be impossible; Blaise, who was facing her, would see it move. Draco steeled himself, preparing to run. There was no way he could warn Harry; the Slytherins were so close they would hear their whispers. He resolved to simply drag Harry along until he got his bearings. Hopefully, he'd cooperate.

_Three—two—one—_

He whipped the chain from Pansy's neck.

Blaise's eyes widened. He shouted unintelligibly in shock, but it was too late; Draco was already running, keeping the folds of the Cloak in place with one hand while dragging Harry along with the other. Luckily, Harry caught on fast, and soon they were sprinting for the door.

They hurtled through the wall. Meanwhile, the shouts behind them turned angry. Without pausing, they ran, both with the same destination in mind: the Room of Requirement.

Before long, the sounds of the Slytherins faded. Harry and Draco slowed, snickering. After walking past the wall on the seventh-floor corridor thrice and entering Draco's new room, they both simultaneously burst out laughing.

"The looks on their faces!" Harry gasped, tossing the cloak aside.

"That was awesome!" Draco chortled.

Eventually, they calmed. Draco dragged his trunk to his bed and returned it to its original weight, quickly slipping the locket safely into his pocket before returning to Harry's side.

"We'll go back to Ron and Hermione. Ready?" Harry asked, holding out the cloak for him.

Draco nodded, and Harry let the Cloak fall over them. Before exiting the room, however, he asked, "Are you going to tell me what's so special about that locket?"

Draco shook his head. He wasn't good with conversations about feelings, and he didn't want Harry's pity. Besides, they weren't quite there yet, in terms of trust.

"Fair enough," he said with a shrug, before leading Draco outside.

They had taken only a few steps when they heard the voices.

"—right here, could he have gone—?"

It was Pansy and Blaise. They approached from behind, giving Harry and Draco no time to retreat back into the Room of Requirement. Silently, they backed away as Pansy and Blaise rounded the corner, wands out and alert. They were like two hounds tracking their scent.

"Potter has an Invisibility Cloak, maybe Malfoy—?"

_"Accio Cloak!"_ cried Blaise. Draco seized its folds, but it made no move to escape. The spell had not worked.

Pansy seemed to know this, however. "No, that won't work, let me— "

As she raised her wand, Harry grabbed Draco's arm and dragged him into a deserted room, just as Pansy said, _"Speciales Revelio!"_

Harry and Draco just barely entered the room before the cloak began to glow silver; Harry whipped it off and covered it with his body to block its light.

Silence from outside the room. Draco didn't dare move. Had they seen the glow?

Finally, Pansy sighed in disappointment. "He's not here."

"Are you sure he was there to begin with?" Blaise asked. "I mean, you're really sure it was Draco who stole the necklace?"

"Positive," Pansy growled.

"Why so confident?"

"Trust me. I have my reasons. Come on, let's go search somewhere else."

With that, they left, and both Harry and Draco sighed in relief.

"Thank goodness," Harry muttered. "That was close."

Draco nodded, though he was a little apprehensive. Pansy had made it sound as though she knew why the locket was important to him. But she couldn't, could she? If she did, that was another thing she could use against him...

Trying to distract himself from his worried thoughts, he looked around. They seemed to have entered a large closet. There were shelves lining the walls and spare materials such as rusty buckets and broken broom handles littered about. On the opposite end of the room from them was a plain, black door.

Something about this door made Draco curious. It was not its lack of handle, nor its simple demeanor. It was the fact that it seemed to radiate magic. Very strange and powerful magic, too. Draco felt a strong surge of longing, of _desire_ to open the door and to reveal what lay behind its black stone. Almost without thinking, Draco reached for the place where the handle should lay. Harry gasped in warning, but it was too late, for the door had already melted to reveal—a mirror.

Draco furrowed his brows in confusion, ignoring the second gasp, this time of surprise, from behind him. What was a plain old mirror doing in such a hidden location? He stepped in front of it properly, fully expecting to see himself and Harry—but not any others.

Yet there were others there, too, making Draco cry out in alarm and whip around, ready to fight—but there was no one there besides Harry.

Incredulous, Draco turned back to the mirror. There were definitely others there, talking and laughing as though they didn't have a care in the world. With a shock, Draco realized that they were his parents. Intrigued now, he stepped forward. Yes, they were definitely his mother and his father and himself, but how—

Draco looked closer. He and his mother and father were smiling, their shoulders relaxed. It was quite obvious that they were in no danger, for their smiles were soft and warm and loving. And his father, Draco realized with a jolt, had his bare arm draped over his son's shoulders—his left arm—and the forearm was unblemished.

Slowly, Draco looked at his mother's eyes, which were devoid of the dark shadows beneath them and the haggard look they'd usually worn since the return of Voldemort. Slower still, hardly daring to believe it, Draco looked at his own mirror-self's arm. It was pale, unblemished, and bare, without a trace of the Dark Mark.

And that's when Draco knew: this was a world without Voldemort. This was what his family would have been had they never joined Voldemort's ranks.

His family had been ripped apart because of Voldemort: his father was in Azkaban, his mother wouldn't stop drinking, and he, Draco, was left with a permanent mark representing his mistakes on his arm, as well as terror and grief and regret laying heavily over his heart. He would do anything to turn back the clock and start over, and that was exactly what this mirror was showing him.

He could not control the raw emotion he felt watching what could have—should have—been. He could not stop the desire and longing for it to be true from consuming him. _Please be true,_ Draco pleaded silently to the mirror. _Please have this all be a bad dream._

There was no answer, of course, making him deflate. He suddenly felt very tired. What he wouldn't do to have the chance to talk some sense into his younger self and father. But of course, that was impossible—a childish dream he could never achieve.

Never achieve. Never. The one thing he wished for most was gone and never coming back.

He was not aware of how much time passed, nor could he hear the frantic pleading to leave coming from behind him. He tuned the world out; it was only him and this mirror that mattered, and what lay in its reflection. But the beseeching noises were unrelenting, and soon strong hands had a firm grip on his arm and were dragging him away. He struggled feebly, wishing to stay captivated by the reflection, to believe, even for a moment, that it truly was real—

But the door closed, and Draco felt a heavy weight in his chest; a gaping black hole where his heart should be.


	6. Chapter 5-Days Past

HARRY

Harry shook his head disbelievingly. Why hadn't the mirror been moved? Why had it been left at Hogwarts?

He remembered when he'd first seen the Mirror of Erised. He'd been eleven. He'd seen his dead family. And he'd thought it was an amazing gift to see it.

Now, he wanted it destroyed.

The faces of the new dead still haunted him: his mother and father were there, as always, but now Sirius and Remus joined them. Instead of feeling immense happiness at the momentary sight of his loved ones once more, all he felt was white-hot anger. How dare they be shown to him like that? How dare they be shown to him without warning, so suddenly? How dare the Mirror taunt him with something that could never be? How dare the mirror taunt _Draco_ with whatever his desire was?

The mirror had changed for him. Harry's eleven-year-old self had seen the family he could have had—the Harry now saw the family he had had, but had been taken away from him.

Harry felt the strong urge to cry, but restrained himself. Draco needed an explanation.

He brought the detached boy back to the Room of Requirement, settled him carefully upon a couch, and waited.

* * *

DRACO

It was a long while before Draco came back to the present.

He immediately became aware of the fact that Harry Potter was sitting beside him, letting Draco lean upon his shoulder, and that he didn't mind in the slightest.

What happened? He had a vague memory of stealing back the locket, then hiding from Pansy and Blaise, and then— He strained to remember. A door with no handle... an interesting mirror... a magical reflection showing him things he desperately wanted but could never have.

Harry had been there. Harry had seen. He had been witness to his distress, had seen a display of one of his deepest secrets. Had probably witnessed him crying out or sobbing, he realized with a rush of embarrassment. His pride was severely wounded.

Taking several deep breaths, he calmed himself and leaned away from Harry as casually as he could manage. "You must think I'm stupid," he muttered, face burning.

"I don't think you're stupid at all," Harry replied sincerely.

"You should."

There's a slight pause before Harry asked, "What did you see?"

Draco hesitated. Should he tell Harry? Apparently he had been wrong; Harry hadn't seen what he had in the mirror. But although he now knew that he could keep his secret safe, something told him that it was okay for him to tell the truth. He realized his hesitation was less of a question of trust and more of an assurance of his reputable status. Then he remembered that he had no reputation to uphold.

"I saw myself with my parents," he answered, voice low. Then, louder, he said, "It was peaceful. We were happy. My mother was sober and more healthy than she had been in years. And we—as in my father and I—we were wearing short-sleeved shirts."

"Short-sleeved shirts?" Harry asked, confused. "What's so important about your shirts?"

Draco hung his head abashedly. "It-it's not the shirts that are important."

"Then what—oh."

Harry was silent for a few moments.

"Draco, what's the one thing you desire most in this world?"

Draco avoided Harry's eyes, feeling embarrassed once again. "To fix my past mistakes. To make amends. To live a peaceful life."

"Or to live the life shown to you in that mirror?"

Draco paused, then, realizing Harry to be right, nodded.

"That was the Mirror of Erised," Harry explained. "It shows you what you desire more than anything else in the world. Whether that's riches and gold, or world peace, or a dead loved one" —Harry paused slightly there, making Draco certain of what he'd seen— "it can show you anything. But the problem is that— "

"—that it's not necessarily possible," Draco finished for him.

Harry nodded.

Draco sighed sadly. _It's not possible,_ he told himself. _Not possible. Don't fool yourself._

"People have gone insane from the desire. It's why it's so horrible. When I first came across it, I started not to care about things that mattered to me. Don't let yourself do the same."

Draco, despite Harry's words, turned to the door of the Room of Requirement longingly, half tempted to leave and open the handle-less, black door once more, if only to get one mere glance at the Mirror. He was about to get to his feet when he was held back by Harry.

"No," Harry told him firmly. "You can't. If you do, you'll only find yourself unable to look away."

"Please," Draco begged, not exactly sure why he wanted something that would only tear him apart from the inside.

"No." Harry began pulling him to his feet and tugging him towards his bed.

Draco hated it, but also felt eternally grateful that Harry pulled him farther away from the exit.

Returning to Ron and Hermione long since forgotten, Harry turned away as Draco dressed himself mindlessly, lost in his own thoughts. Slipping under the covers, he stared up at the ceiling. Harry's face loomed into view just long enough to make him promise not to leave to room until the morning, upon which he agreed absently. Then, gently squeezing Draco's shoulder, Harry made his way towards the exit.

Just before Harry left, however, Draco spoke.

"What do you see?" he asked. He wanted to know if he was right in his prediction.

Harry looked at him sadly, contemplating his answer. Finally, he chuckled sadly.

"I see myself holding a pair of thick, wool socks."

He left.

Draco knew it was a lie, for he was no fool. In fact, he hardly needed to ask the question at all; he was certain Harry would be surrounded by his beloved dead. However, it had been a rather peculiar answer, and Draco wondered why he had said it.

Why, it even sounded like something Dumbledore would say.

* * *

_He's here._

_Draco knew this from the moment he awoke. There was a stillness to the air, as if the manor itself was holding its breath. Fear seeped through the cracks of the windows, the gaps beneath the doors, leaving none free from its presence. Not even Bellatrix Lestrange, Draco's insane aunt, would be left untouched, although her fear was blanketed by unquestioning devotion._

_The fear had reached Draco as well, but he stood anyway. In fact, he wasn't as afraid as he should've been. He knew why the Dark Lord was here, and knew what he must do._

_Dressing in his finest clothes, arranging his hair to perfection, and preparing himself as much as he could took a mere thirty minutes. Nerves and excitement caused his heart to race as he thought of the events ahead. Finally, all his hard work would be worth it. He'd been dreaming of this day ever since his mother had delivered the news. He would prove himself and bring honor to the Malfoy name._

_A deep breath, and he was out the bedroom door, gliding along the corridors soundlessly. As if in a dream, he approached the dining room door and turned the knob._

_He was there, of course, seated upon the chair at the end of the long table crowded with people as if it were a throne. It was a throne, in all rights._

_Draco let none of his emotions show, instead keeping his expression blank, as he'd been trained to do. He approached the empty chair waiting for him beside his pale mother, keeping his head held high and walking with all the purpose and grandeur he could muster._

_"My dear Draco." The snakelike figure spoke before he could lower himself into his designated seat. "Do not bother sitting quite yet. Come. We shall do this quickly."_

_Draco changed direction immediately, instead approaching the head of the table._

_"It is time."_

_With only slightly disguised eagerness, Draco held out his left arm._

_The mission would be simple, the glory attained, and the power after unlimited. Something to redeem his father, to prove the Malfoys were worthy. Two simple words uttered from his mouth, and it would all be his._

_Draco couldn't have known how wrong he was.  
_

* * *

HARRY 

"Why didn't they remove it? It must've been there for years!"

Harry was sitting with Ron and Hermione, just having recounted the excursion with the Mirror of Erised, leaving out only what had happened after Draco had seen it. This made it sound as though the two of them had simply stared at it pensively before walking away.

Harry shook his head. "I don't know, Hermione. I'm wondering the same thing."

"But that's completely irresponsible!" Hermione exclaimed. "Remember when you saw it, how you changed— "

"I know."

Silence, each of the trio lost in their own thoughts. Then—

"What did Malfoy see?"

It was Ron. Harry sighed.

"I don't know," he lied. "He didn't tell me."

"And it's really none of your business, Ronald," said Hermione sternly.

"I was just curious," said Ron with a shrug.

Hermione gave him a dark look. "Ronald Weasley, I forbid you to ask him."

"Alright! Alright!"

Silence once more: Ron was pondering the countless possibilities of what Draco might've seen, Hermione was thinking Ron was being quite insensitive while at the same time wondering why the teachers didn't remove the mirror, and Harry was recounting Draco's pained yet strangely blank face, feeling a burst of anger at Dumbledore.

Why hadn't the man removed it? Why had he left it? To terrorize the students? To terrorize the Death Eaters? But they were gone now, and so was Dumbledore—so why had he left the mirror?

"You said it had been hidden, right Harry?" asked Hermione.

Harry nodded.

"How well?"

"Not well enough," Harry replied darkly.

"Well," Hermione mused, "I'll bet Dumbledore thought it was a cool bit of magic. It is rather amazing, even as horrible as it is. Dumbledore probably thought it was a pity to destroy it, so he hid it away."

Harry nodded. "It would make sense. Still doesn't excuse him though. He could've put it anywhere."

"Well, they always do say Hogwarts is the safest place to hide something," said Ron.

There was another silence. Harry looked at his watch; it was one o'clock precisely.

"I think I'm going to bed now," Harry said with a yawn. "'Night."

"'Night," muttered the other two, deep in thought.

Harry retreated to the boys' dormitories, collapsing on his bed without bothering to change. For a few moments, he simply lay there atop his bed sheets, listening to the sound of Neville's loud, rumbling snores. Finally, he clambered under the warm blankets and instantly fell fast asleep.

* * *

DRACO

_The pain left by the mark had been fleeting, but that was nothing compared to the horror that followed._

_It seemed as though one moment he was boasting on the Hogwarts Express, the next he was weeping pitifully in the boys' bathroom, comforted by none other than Moaning Myrtle._

_The cursed necklace had failed, and Draco was starting to feel desperate. What if this didn't work? What if he couldn't fix the Vanishing Cabinet? His mother and father would be killed, and so would he, last of all..._

_No. It wouldn't happen. He wouldn't allow it._

_But Draco had tried. And tried. And tried. And tried. By the time Katie Bell had returned, he'd made very little progress. Draco was getting desperate. So desperate that he sent Slughorn poisoned mead, hoping against hope it would reach its intended owner—but no, although Draco didn't know at the time, the man would keep it, the selfish oaf, and would instead poison none other than Ronald Weasley. As if he needed another reason for Potter to suspect him._

_To make matters even worse, Crabbe and Goyle were sulky about having to walk around as girls, yet Draco couldn't blame them. He wouldn't want to walk around as a member of the opposite sex either._

_When Draco had found himself in the boys' bathroom once more, being comforted by the strangely successful Moaning Myrtle and crying, only to look up and see Potter, he had lost it. The resentment he'd felt for being pitted into his situation, his anger at his own self for ever accepting the mission, the growing desperation over the fact that he couldn't fix the cabinet all came spilling out in a violent explosion, with Potter as the victim._

"Cruci—,"_ he had cried._

_But he hadn't yet finished the curse before the pain hit him. He fell backward, hitting the ground hard, but he barely felt it. The pain in his chest and arms consumed him, and he gasped and shook, head pounding, vision blurry... A figure, dressed in black, was leaning over him, and another figure joined them..._

_The pain began to recede. Severus Snape healed him, helped him stand, and brought him to the hospital wing. They left the bathroom quickly, but not before Draco caught a glimpse of Potter's terrified, yet relieved, expression._

_He'd been healed, and then back to the Room of Requirement it was. Gryffindor won the Quidditch Cup, but he didn't care. His sole focus was the Vanishing Cabinet._

_And then, finally, after he had almost given up hope, it had been fixed._

_He couldn't resist a whoop of joy. He was going to live, his mother and father were going to live, and, with just two more words, it'd all be over!_

_He had no qualms shoving the old bat Trelawney headfirst out into the corridor outside after she'd overheard his celebrations. However, his heart did skip a beat when he heard Potter outside, saying, "I think you'd better tell Professor Dumbledore. He ought to know that Malfoy's celebrating—I mean, that someone that threw you out of the room."_

_So Potter knew it was him. And he was going to tell Dumbledore. A little panic began to return to Draco. He had to act fast._

_He called the Death Eaters to the school that very night. Peering outside the Room of Requirement with the Death Eaters behind him, he saw two Weasleys and Longbottom waiting for him. One bit of Peruvian Instant Darkness powder, and he was off with the Death Eaters in tow, his Hand of Glory providing light._

_Up the staircases to the highest tower he led them. How foolish Dumbledore had been, not to employ any guards—_

_But there were guards, to Draco's dismay. The fight broke out quickly. The defenders of Hogwarts sent for help, and soon the battle began._

_Draco knew what he had to do. Steeling himself, he ran to the staircase leading up to the tower, up to Dumbledore, his final destination._


	7. Chapter 6-Not Sent but Received

DRACO

The next morning dawned bright and early. The sky outside was a clear blue, and another few inches of fresh snow blanketed the castle grounds. Draco, who absolutely adored snow, found this weather a wonderful change from yesterday's nightmarish events. He hoped it was a good omen.

Of course, his luck only ran so far.

The letter came while he was buttering his toast. Draco looked in panic at Pansy and Blaise, who both had smug smiles.

_Oh no..._

Thankfully, it wasn't a howler, nor did it seem to contain any hexes or other magical properties meant to harm him. As for the address...

It was his mother's handwriting. The Malfoy seal, too... it was common knowledge that they could not be replicated, for there were many spells and curses placed upon them after being made to prove the authenticity of the sender. Draco could never forget this particular emblem's design. It was everywhere in the Malfoy Manor, and this truly was his mother's letter.

With trembling fingers, he slit the seal open, unfolded the parchment within, and read.

_Draco,_

_When I denounced the Dark Lord, when I aided Harry Potter in the demise of the Death Eaters, I did it for you. I did it to find you, to be sure you were alive. Yes, it went against everything I've ever been taught. Yes, it went against the wishes of those who surrounded me. But I did it because I cared for you more than the victory of the Death Eaters and their regime. That love I felt for you became very apparent to me in those dark times, more apparent then I'd ever realized before._

_This affection from me will not change in light of your confession._

_Your letter came to me by surprise. I admit I did not expect it. But should you truly prefer men, it will not change the way I see you. You are still my son, and will always be so._

_But as it seems to be a time for confessions, I, myself, must confess._

_I never married your father for love. I married for money, for power, and I see now that it was foolish of me to do so. However, it led me to you, so perhaps it was not so terrible after all._

_But your father has always been a prejudiced man. I do not claim I was innocent, but I do believe I was more so than your father ever was or will be. But when we wed, I believed the lies of a new era he spread. A world where we purebloods could live above Muggleborns like we were always meant to. That was the vision the Dark Lord tempted us with, and I believed every word. That is, until the first war began._

_When your father joined the Death Eaters, I was incredibly proud. But the more I witnessed him do for his Master, the more horrible I felt. Could this really be the way to peace, through murder? When you were born, I made my decision. I would not let your father turn you into a mirror image of himself. His ideas, his prejudices against those considering themselves queer, was something I never wanted to bestow upon you, and it's certainly not something I will hate you for now._

_Should you need help, I can aid you. Your farther, however, may not be so lenient, and I advise against revealing this piece of information to him quite yet. Only when you are completely prepared for his response should you send a letter to him in Azkaban, and I implore you to brace yourself for the worst._

_But as for me, I will stand by you. At whatever cost. To whatever end._

_Your mother,_  
_Narcissa Malfoy_

Draco finished reading the letter, feeling slightly sick but relieved all at once. Pansy and Blaise had done this? Sent a letter to his mother confessing his sexuality... at least she had taken it well. But his mother was right—his father would not like it. Was it possible Pansy and Blaise had thought to send it to him as well?

Realizing the two Slytherins might be watching him for a reaction, he quickly feigned an expression of shocked horror. Making his hands tremble, he dropped his toast and shot a fearful look at Pansy and Blaise before striding quickly from the Great Hall, smirking secretly at their triumphant expressions. Let them believe that he had received a negative response; he would make them pay for it, in the end.

But the smirk quickly faded as he marched towards the dungeons, anger replacing his victory. How dare they? That was his business, his secret. Why did they have to take it away from him?

His anger only increased as he remembered he could no longer sleep in the Slytherin dormitories.

Going back up the countless staircases to the Room of Requirement seemed to take less time than usual, due to his occupied mind. He was so distracted, in fact, that he almost bowled over poor Neville Longbottom, who was loitering at the top of the staircase.

"Sorry," Draco grunted, glancing at his would-be victim of toppling down two sets of hard, stone stairs.

Neville grunted back in response, but said nothing, his eyes unnaturally unfocused. He held a piece of parchment tightly in his right hand with trembling fingers. Shaking his head, he lumbered off, staggering slightly. Draco furrowed his brows in confusion and followed the Gryffindor with his eyes, eventually shrugging and going on his way. Something was bothering the boy, but that wasn't his problem. Besides, he had his own fair share of issues.

* * *

HARRY

"So, Hermione. I have a question that might continue off your 'ask the right question' thing."

Hermione looked up from her porridge. "Oh?" She raised her brows placidly at her boyfriend.

"Yeah, so do I," Harry agreed, shifting a bit closer.

Hermione sighed, knowing an interrogation was soon to be held, but gestured for them to continue.

Ron went first. "Does it involve Quidditch?"

Hermione gave him an incredulous look. "No. Of course not! Why would you even ask—?"

"Hey! I'm just checking!" said Ron, throwing his hands up into the air in surrender. "Consider it your test question."

Hermione simply rolled her eyes.

Harry's turn. "Does it involve advanced and possibly dangerous magic we've never heard of before?"

"No," replied Hermione, causing Harry to feel slightly relieved. "Take notes, Ron," she continued. "_That's_ a good question."

Ron fumed. "Fine. What does it have to do with Malfoy?"

"Too broad."

Ron groaned, pausing to think. "Does it have anything to do with Voldemort?"

"Not in the slightest," Hermione replied, and Harry felt slightly more relieved.

"Can we figure out what it is without leaving the castle?" he asked.

"Certainly."

"Does it involve Pansy and Blaise?"

"Not that I'm aware."

"You said it involves Malfoy. Does he know the answer, then?"

"Perhaps partially. Most likely not."

"Why not?"

"He, er... would find it hard to believe."

This immediately sent Harry's mind spiraling into fifty million directions. He pressed on for more information.

"You said it involved me, too. Do I know the answer?"

Hermione smiled cryptically. "No, but you have all the means necessary to."

Excited by this, he quickly asked, "What materials do I need? Books? Quills? The right person?"

"Nothing but your own head, Harry."

He was slightly put out by this. How could he know the answer using nothing but his own head if he didn't already know what it was? He was stumped, and completely at loss for what to ask next.

Hermione seemed to know what he was thinking. With a sigh, she said, "Perhaps you'll need a slight push. An 'awakening', as they say. But you'll figure it out eventually, I'm sure."

"Sure I will," Harry muttered distractedly, turning back to his porridge.

* * *

DRACO

Alone in the Room of Requirement, Draco pondered his various problems, twirling his wand absentmindedly. What was he going to do? Pansy and Blaise seemed to have no inclination to stop his torture any time soon, and they were likely going to include Harry, Hermione, and the Weasel. He knew the jab at Hermione's parents in their confrontation outside the library wasn't for nothing. They knew things about them, the secrets and lies they kept, and they knew how to twist them into something sinister. That alone made them dangerous.

At least they had not been recruited by the Death Eaters in the war. The results would have been been disastrous. They would have loved it. And if they'd learned Dark Magic... he felt a shiver run down his spine. What if they had? With the Carrows at Hogwarts, there was every chance it was possible. But while Pansy had always been rotten, he could not remember Blaise ever being so bloodthirsty. He had always been the most quiet of the group, and, dare he say it, the most levelheaded. What made him change? Had the war had that much of an effect on him?

He placed those questions aside. Their answers were vital. This was a battle of wits, after all, and as Pansy and Blaise hd proven, knowing the enemy was necessary to win.

Draco cast his mind back to every encounter he'd had with Pansy and Blaise, searching for even the slightest weakness. Blaise's mother could be useful; there was no way she was innocent of each and every one of her rich lovers' mysterious deaths. Pansy's looks too, he decided, for they weren't anything close to beautiful, and the relationship she had with her parents as well. They were as cold as they come. This Draco knew from the countless boring parties his family had hosted, as well as been invited to, for the old, pureblood families.

He cast his mind around for more, but, try as he might, he couldn't think of anything else. How could that be? He'd known them for years, well before he'd ever come to Hogwarts. How could he know nothing else about them when they knew so much about him?

Perhaps they were using Dark Magic already. Vaguely, he wondered if they knew Occlumency, but quickly dismissed the thought. His defenses were too strong. Besides, their minds had always been open books, just waiting for him to slip into their depths. He never had though, dismissing it as a waste of time, and now he dearly wished he hadn't. But what was to stop him from doing it now? He would search their minds at the next chance he got, he decided.

For now, he settled for heading to the library. If Pansy and Blaise were using Dark Magic, he needed to know.

* * *

HARRY

The library was quieter than usual, which Harry was grateful for. It meant he could to do his research in peace. Pouring over the book beside him, he continued scratching away at his roll of parchment. Professor Binns, the History of Magic teacher, had assigned them a four foot essay, and Harry, as usual, had no clue what to write, having zoned out along with everyone else to the white noise that was Binns's drawl.

He gritted his teeth. Half a foot had been written, and he was already bored. But he no longer had an excuse to delay; the essay was due the next day. Harry couldn't help thinking of just turning it in as it was and getting a T.

Thankfully, he was interrupted from his stupor by a friendly, bold voice. "Would you like to be tortured in peace, or am I allowed to join you?"

Harry smiled. He knew that voice. Turning in his seat, he saw Ginny Weasley striding towards him, bag in hand and her flaming red hair flowing behind her. He grinned, gesturing for her to take the seat opposite him, which she did, dropping her bag on the floor beside her.

"Seems like ages since I've seen you," she said. There was no anger in her tone, and no hint of jealousy, just friendly greeting. It was one of the reasons why he loved Ginny; she was so easygoing that it was impossible not to like her.

They conversed for some time after this, eventually subjecting themselves to the torture of their homework. Ginny asked him a copious amount of questions about her Transfiguration essay, most of which Harry didn't know, and eventually she began asking questions so far-fetched and outlandish that he knew she had to be messing with him.

Suddenly, the torture that was his homework didn't seem so tortuous anymore.

After a long while, he had completed his essay. Most of it was useless gibberish, and his handwriting was four times larger than his usual font, but he had it completed, which was a miracle in itself. He hoped for at least a P or an A.

Ginny hadn't finished yet. The N.E.W.T. tests were, according to her teachers, almost upon her, though they were actually many months away. Yet that didn't deter the mountain of homework assigned to her each day. Harry could see the dark circles under her eyes from the countless late nights spent completing essay after essay.

Suddenly, a book was slammed down on the table in front of his face, making him jump. Looking up, he saw Draco Malfoy standing above him and Ginny, eyes flashing.

"The bastards! I can't believe it! Here I thought it would be Dark Magic, but no! I've just been an idiot, a complete and utter fool!"

While he talked, he grabbed a chair from the table beside them a little more violently than he would've had he been calmer. Then, grabbing the book he'd tossed onto the table moments ago and flipping through its pages so harshly Harry thought they might tear, he continued muttering to himself darkly.

"Erm, Draco," Harry probed hesitantly. "Something wrong?"

Draco looked at him blandly, sarcastically answering, "No, nothing! I'm very happy right now. Completely calm! Calmer than I've ever been before!"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Gimme that," he said, snatching the book from his hands, and, ignoring the sound of protest behind him, began to read.

_Hetentia, also known as the Blackmailer's Tool, is a spell used mainly for forging signatures and handwriting, as well as determining the voice a Howler might speak in. It was created by the unruly wandmaker Haidley Kemptman in the year 1829, and it caused problems detrimental to the Ministry of Magic. Its second and more commonly known name comes from the fact that it is the most essential tool anyone could have to assist them in blackmailed threats. Many use the spell to disguise their voice or handwriting, or else to take the form of a specific target's voice or handwriting. Its ability to forge signatures was what caused a massive move made by the Ministry of Magic to instead identify Wizards and Witches by their wands in 1893, a much more secure form of identification. Yet to this day, Hetentia is still widespread, its harm reaching even the furthest corners of the Wizarding World._

He finished there. Glancing up, he asked, "This was how they did it?"

Draco nodded, reaching out an impatient hand for the book. Harry obliged. "I'm sure," he said with a nod. "The problem is, I can't figure out how they found out in the first place. It's not like I go prancing around screaming my head off about my sexuality."

"You don't?" asked Ginny, sounding disappointed. "You should."

Draco glanced up at her sharply, giving her a glare, but quickly buried his head behind his book, sending the clear message that he was in no mood to talk.

Ginny turned to Harry with a small frown. "It's so weird, you know. Him being here. I mean, I can't remember the last time you two have had a conversation with blowing up in each other's faces."

"That's because we haven't had one before this year," Harry replied smoothly, Draco nodding in agreement.

Ginny laughed. "Yes, I suppose you haven't."

There was a pause. Then, "The blue in his hair is fading, too. It's sad." She reached out to play with a few strands.

Draco batted her away, looking immensely irritated. With a quick glare that clearly said something like, _If you ever do that again I'm hexing the both of you so that asparagus sprouts from your ears,_ he returned to his book. Harry and Ginny chuckled.

They spent the rest of their time in near silence, Draco buried in his book, Ginny continuing her essay, and Harry gazing absentmindedly out the window, fiddling with a loose thread of his shirt. The only sounds were the scratching of Ginny's quill, Draco turning pages, and the faint noises of the other students in the library.

Harry wondered if Ron and Hermione were still outside, trudging through the snow around the lake. They'd went for a walk in the bitter February wind, which was enough to convince Harry to stay inside, along with the looming due date of his essay. Besides, he could tell Ron and Hermione wished to have some time along together, as boyfriend and girlfriend. That prospect made him feel a bit put-out, though he knew that was silly. He had Ginny, didn't he?

He looked at the girl in question, who was immersed so deeply in her essay that she didn't notice his stare. He watched her tired eyes rove across the paper, a hand tucking her hair behind her ear while she bit her lip in thought. She was beautiful, nice, bold, daring, strong, grounded, had nerves of steel—she was, in all rights, perfect. So why was he having second thoughts abut his choice to date her?

He hadn't been faking, had he? No, he was sure he'd felt something for her in Sixth Year. Seventh Year as well. So why didn't he now? What had happened in that year's time?

He needed advice. But who could he ask? Certainly not Ron, who would eat him alive for hurting his sister. Nor would he ask Draco, who would tease him mercilessly. Hermione, then. He always did seem to go to her about his social issues.

Lost in thought, he didn't notice Draco had ever left, only coming back to his senses when he returned, scraping the chair loudly as he sat down. In his hands he held a large pile of moldy, moth-eaten books, their bindings so patched and frayed that Harry knew at once they had come from the Restricted Section of the library. He raised his eyebrows at Draco, who answered his unspoken question without hesitation.

"Thought Pansy and Blaise might be using Dark Magic. Mind you, it took me ages to convince McGonagall I didn't want them to stage an attack on Hogwarts." He let out a short laugh, though Harry could tell he didn't find it humorous.

Silence fell once more as Draco picked up the nearest book and buried himself in it once more. Harry looked over some of the titles, suppressing a shiver as he read what they entailed. Picking up the one on top, he opened the book to find the spells equally horrendous as he'd been imagining. He decided to let Draco do the research.

He was reaching to place the book back on the pile when he froze. For there, in plain sight, was the hated book itself: _Secrets of the Darkest Art._

Stunned by its appearance, Harry switched books, replacing the one he was holding with the book he was sure Voldemort himself had used to learn all he could about horcruxes. Carefully, he opened it, searching through its pages to find what he needed. Finally, he found it, and, leaning carefully over the book, he read.

It was just as horrible as Hermione had described. He felt as though he were about to vomit as he read paragraph after paragraph describing what horcruxes were, what they did, how to create them... and to think that he'd been one of them...

Harry had the sudden desire to throw the book out the window. Draco, however, seemed to realize something was wrong, and he gently tugged the book from Harry's numb fingers. Setting his own book aside, he pulled _Secrets of the Darkest Art_ towards him and began to read. Ginny, curious, stood and read from behind his shoulder. Harry, meanwhile, returned to staring out the window.

When the two had finished, Harry heard a soft, "Oh," from behind him, quickly followed by another, this time louder.

"This!" cried Ginny. Harry turned to her, gesturing frantically for her to lower her voice. "This is what you were doing? This was your 'oh so secret' mission! You were looking for horcruxes?"

Harry nodded.

"_His_ horcruxes?" she asked in horror.

He nodded again.

She stared at him, dumbstruck. After a moment, Draco spoke.

"Wow, Potter. You're more badass than I give you credit for."

At once, the tension broke. Both Harry and Ginny were laughing, and Harry found that once he started, he couldn't stop. Voldemort was dead, his regime destroyed, and all was well. It was just him and his friends, laughing together without a care in the world.


	8. Chapter 7-Coming Clean

HARRY

"You've just got to grit your teeth and tell her, Harry."

Several days had passed since the events of the library, and he was now alone at the breakfast table with Hermione, desperately asking for her help before either Ron or Ginny came down from the dormitories.

"But how, Hermione?" he asked, waving his arms in distress. "I like her a lot, and I don't want to ruin things with a big argument or something— "

"Relax, Harry," Hermione said calmingly. "Ginny is both strong and levelheaded. She's bound to take it well."

He wasn't sure he was convinced, but before he could say anything, Ron entered the hall. Spotting them, he hurried over, quickly busying himself with porridge from the moment he sat down.

"Morning," he said blearily. "Could you pass the juice, Harry?"

Harry reached for it, pointedly ignoring Hermione's mouthed words of, _Tell him._

"Thanks mate."

At that moment, Neville came wandering over. He sat down beside them, waving to Luna Lovegood at the Ravenclaw table before devouring some toast and eggs with such a voraciousness Harry had seen from no one but Ron.

"Hungry?" he asked him with a small chuckle.

"Starving," replied Neville. "I haven't been eating lately."

Hermione frowned. "You haven't been eating lately? Why not?"

"Not sure," Neville replied. "Too busy."

"With homework?" asked Harry. "I didn't think it was that bad this year. No worse than fifth and sixth year, at least, and you seemed to be eating just fine then."

Neville shook his head. "Not homework. F-family business."

"Oh," said Hermione sadly. "I'm sorry, Neville."

"Don't be," he said thickly. Having finished his eggs, he grabbed a fistful of bacon and said, "Well, I'll see you around."

And with that he stood and walked quickly from the hall.

Ron stopped eating his porridge to gazed at Neville's retreating back. Harry exchanged a glance with Hermione. One look in her eyes and he knew she was thinking the same thing: something was wrong with poor Neville.

"Keep an eye on him, will you boys?" she said worriedly. "I don't want him to be hurt."

Harry and Ron both nodded.

* * *

"I found it!"

Harry jumped at Draco's outburst. They were in their rendezvous classroom, this time with cushions kindly provided to them by Hermione. He'd been working on a tricky charm he had to learn before Professor Flitwick's class next week, but his glass bottle now exploded into tiny shards of glass due to his distraction.

Draco glanced at him. "Sorry," he said, not sounding very sorry at all, but rather excited. "Hermione, come look at this."

Hermione obeyed, taking the book from his grasp and reading what was written there. As she did, her eyes widened slightly, and her lips parted slightly. "That—that sounds right. Yeah," she said as she read.

"What is it?" said Ron, leaning over to read it, too. Harry followed suit, walking over and stooping down behind Hermione. He read:

_Created by a the French philosopher Antoine Gabriel in 1444, the Klaineau (Clay-noh) Spell is one of the most invading spells in Dark Magic. Simply put, the caster of this spell can read their victim's mind in such a subtle way that, unless familiar with it, they would never know. Its function is quite unique as well. Once cast, the victim will begin to glow a dull blue. Then comes the most spectacular part of the spell: the caster will then temporarily cease to exist from this world, and are transported into the mind of the victim, free to wander for as long as they wish to. This way, countless information can be discovered, though there is no way to call for specific knowledge; one must simply walk until they find what they need. This is one of the reasons why only the most experienced of witches and wizards are able to cast it properly, for the inexperienced could quite literally walk for eons without finding anything useful._

_The spell has proven its worth many times. During the years of constant Wizarding uprisings in France, Antoine Gabriel used it countless times to—_

Harry stopped reading there. "This is what you think Pansy and Blaise used against you?" he asked Draco.

He nodded. "It's the best spell I've found. The _only_ spell I've found. It's got to be it."

"But the book says only really experienced witches and wizards can perform it and be successful," said Hermione with a frown. "You're sure Pansy and Blaise could accomplish something like that?"

Draco shook his head. "Of course not. But the book talks about the mind as if it were a place. I'll bet they just accidentally stumbled on the wrong, or in their case right, thing."

The other three nodded in agreement. It sounded right.

"And you're sure you didn't just let it slip that you liked men to the wrong person," Ron said, making the others groan. It was the tenth time he'd done so since he'd discovered Draco's quest to solve the puzzle.

"How many times do I have to tell you, Weasel?!" Draco hissed irritably. "I told no one!"

"Alright, alright! Just checking."

Hermione rolled her eyes, then frowned. "They could get into serious trouble for doing this. And even if we are wrong, the Blackmailer's Tool spell isn't the most innocent either, is it? Nor is the blackmail itself."

Ron grunted in agreement. "Well, looks like you solved the mystery," he told Draco. "What are you going to do now?"

Draco stood there, pondering for a moment. Then he smiled. "I have an idea."

* * *

Harry knew he had to do it soon.

He had to tell Ginny. He just had to. It had been over a week since he'd begged Hermione for her help, yet he still couldn't bring himself to do it. But Hermione, as always, was right: he just had to grit his teeth and tell her.

Still, he couldn't stop his heart from beating as fast as it was when he pulled Ginny aside on a cold Wednesday morning, nor could he cease the butterflies in his stomach from fluttering violently. Taking deep breathes to calm himself, he looked into Ginny's confused eyes and opened his mouth.

"Ginny," he began nervously. "I have to tell you something... "

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, he was walking into the Great Hall, stunned.

His shock must have been on his face, because Hermione looked at him from above her glass of morning pumpkin juice, concerned. Setting the cup slowly upon the table, she said in a worried tone, "Harry, are you all ri—hmph!"

The rest of her sentence was muffled, for Harry had grabbed her and pulled her into a bone-crushing hug.

"She took it fine," he said into her sweater with a smile.

Hermione laughed in relief. "Oh! Oh, thank goodness. You had me worried there."

Harry grinned, pulling back. "So now if you could help stop Ron from killing me... "

* * *

DRACO

He groaned, glaring at the blank paper in front of him. He was doing everything the book was telling him to do! So why wasn't it working?

Concentrating, he tried again. _"Hetentia!"_ he cried, twirling his wand and thinking desperately of Blaise.

Nothing happened. With a sigh of frustration, he collapsed in his desk chair, rubbing his eyes. What time was it? A quick _Tempus_ told him it was three in the morning. He was going to be miserable the next day.

Resigned to his fate, he got undressed, collapsing onto his cushy bed. The lights went off automatically, and he closed his eyes with a sigh. Perhaps he'd get it tomorrow...

* * *

The next morning, he woke with heavy eyes and tired limbs. Blearily, he stumbled out of bed and to the shower, where he doused himself in freezing cold water. Now awake and shivering, he quickly dressed in warm clothes and headed for the Great Hall.

Outside, he met Neville Longbottom. "Is breakfast over yet?" he asked with a yawn.

The dim-witted Gryffindor didn't respond. Rolling his eyes, Draco turned away.

_BANG._

He didn't even have time to cry out before he was frozen on the ground, the curse having rendered him petrified. Heart beating loudly now, he saw Longbottom's round face loom into view. As he gazed blankly down at him, Draco felt an unpleasant feeling. Something was very off about the Gryffindor boy.

_"Obscuro!"_

His world went black as the curse took effect. Trapped in the darkness, he tried to discern what it had been about Neville's appearance that had bothered him. With a jolt, he realized what it was: his eyes. Dazed and unfocused, they'd stared down at Draco blankly. And that's when he knew.

Damn the bastards. He'd been such a blind fool.


	9. Chapter 8-Neville's Plight

HARRY

It took Harry until dinner to be sure of Draco's absence.

He assumed that, by the third meal of the day, Draco Malfoy would be hungry, no matter how he was feeling or what was keeping him occupied. But he hadn't gone to any of his classes, nor had he come to any meals, nor had Harry even caught a glimpse of him since the day before. This was strange, for he'd learned that Draco was startlingly similar to Hermione in some ways, and his opinions of his grades were some of them.

Once he was positive that something was amiss, he brought up the subject with Ron and Hermione.

"I was thinking the same thing," she agreed, glancing over at the Slytherin table. "It is rather strange of him."

Ron waved his fork offhandedly. "Just check the map," he told them through a mouthful of cereal.

Harry did, pulling from his bag and spreading it across the table. Hermione discreetly moved a few parcels to block the map from prying eyes, and he muttered, "_I solemnly swear that I am up to no good,_" tapping the parchment once with his wand.

At once, the map appeared. Together, the three checked every nook and cranny of the castle, but were unable to find Draco. Finally, they concluded that either he either wasn't in the castle, or he was still in the Room of Requirement. The latter seemed far more likely.

"He could be in the Shrieking Shack, too," said Ron, stuffing himself with several slices of bacon. "Or the Chamber of Secrets."

"He can't speak parseltongue, Ron!" Hermione berated. "And I don't think he even knows where the entrance to the Shrieking Shack is. Besides, why would he be down there?"

Ron shrugged. "Maybe for a nice, private cup of tea?"

"Oh, don't be ridiculous, Ronald— "

"Let's check the Room of Requirement," Harry told his bickering friends. "I think we're all agreed that he's probably there, right?"

His friends nodded.

"Perfect!" He stood, gathering up the map with a muttered, _"Mischief Managed!"_ Shoving it back into his bag, he headed for the exit, his friends following suit.

They headed to the seventh floor corridor, walking past the door to the Room of Requirement three times. Harry, expecting it to open, hardly even paused to check that the door had materialized, and only stopped when he was a foot from the solid stone wall, devoid of any door.

"Where is it?" asked Hermione, flummoxed. "Where has it gone?"

But all Harry felt was a strong rush of anger. The last thing he wanted was a repeat of his struggles to get in the room like in his sixth year. "Really?" he growled at the wall. "We're going to do this again? Fine." He huffed, thought for a moment, then paced in front of the wall three times, thinking, _I need you to tell Malfoy to stop being a git and let us in._

He opened his eyes. No door. He wasn't very surprised, but that didn't stop him from shouting, "Malfoy! Let us in you insufferable moron!"

To his surprise, the door appeared. He stared at it appraisingly, thinking,_ If that was all I needed to do in sixth year, I would have saved myself loads of time. And a few broken toes._

But when the door opened, it wasn't Draco who stood there, but Neville, looking strangely blank.

"Neville!" Harry said, surprised. "Er, have you seen— "

He wasn't able to finish his sentence. At that moment, a jet of light shot from his wand, stunning Harry both literally and figuratively. He collapsed onto the floor, aware of Ron and Hermione falling victim to the same spell behind him. Then, laughter rang across the hall. Two faces emerged from his sides: Blaise and Pansy, in good spirits after a job well done.

Neville seized Harry's legs, dragging him into the Room. He could hear the same being done to Ron and Hermione behind him, the harsh scrape of fabric on stone and the crashes of a few items toppling from shelves making it apparent that they were not being dragged gently. Harry prepared himself for the same onslaught, but it never came; Apparently, Neville wasn't quite as bloodthirsty as Pansy and Blaise were.

But why? Why was he helping them? Harry trained his eyes on his dorm mate, as if hoping he would find a clue. Unfortunately, though not unexpectedly, he found nothing.

He supposed this was what had been bothering Neville the week before at breakfast. But was it the fact that he didn't want to help the Slytherins, or was it that their plans were failing? He had no way of telling.

As it was, he found himself being hauled into a chair and bound tightly to it. Once they were sure he and his friends were secure, there was a muttered, "_Rennervate_," and Harry could move.

Lifting his head, he met the dancing eyes of Pansy Parkinson, who flashed him a huge grin. He glared her. "What the hell is this about?" he spat.

"Oh, Potty," she said in a mocking high, girlish voice. "You should have known better than to get involved in Draco's little scheme against us. Especially since everyone would love for some dirt on the Boy Who Lived."

Blaise chuckled behind him as Harry's blood ran cold. Would they use the Klaineau Spell against him? If they did, the entire Wizarding World would know his secrets. If they did, he would never again have any semblance of privacy. If they did—

Pansy moved, allowing him to see what she had been blocking: Draco Malfoy, tied up in his own chair, arms and wrists bound, and a gag in his mouth. Harry looked him up and down worriedly, realizing with a start that was wearing short sleeves. _It's not the shirts that are important,_ he remembered Draco saying. But this time, it wasn't a peaceful thing: it was a tactic of torment.

Harry's gaze traveled up to his eyes, which were wide and alarmed. _Hi_, he mouthed.

Draco just kept on staring. Confused, he tried again. _Are you okay?_

Draco didn't move. If he hadn't been blinking, Harry would have thought he was petrified. Now very worried, he mouthed, _Draco?_

Gray eyes met green, and this time, Draco replied solely with the look in his eyes. It was the raw fear in them that made Harry's heart skip a beat. Draco was trying to warn him, he realized, warn him that they may actually be in grave danger.

He turned away from Draco to look at Pansy and Blaise, no longer thinking of them as bitter school children. The longer he thought of it, the more he knew it to be true. They'd been practicing Dark Magic, blackmailing, stealing Draco's belongings, and sneaking around the halls after him and Draco. And what had Pansy said when Blaise had tried to summon his cloak? _No, that won't work, let me..._ Who else knew that but perhaps the Death Eaters?

Harry remembered the night when he, Ron, and Hermione had arrived in Hogsmead for the final battle, setting off the alarm the Death Eaters had set there. One of them had tried to summon it, but the spell hadn't worked. They must've learned it couldn't been summoned when they realized he'd still gotten in. Then the information had been passed on to Pansy by some faithful friend...

But if Pansy and Blaise were so guilty, then what about Neville? Harry turned to look at him. He was standing frozen, almost as though he wasn't allowed to move, or as if someone had ordered him to stay put. With a jolt, Harry realized someone probably had. He looked at Neville's eyes, trying to see if he was right. They were unfocused and glassy, as though he was not entirely there.

"You Imperiused him?!" Harry exclaimed, making Pansy and Blaise turn away from the trapped Hermione. They both exchanged a glance, and then laughed.

"Honestly, Potter!" sneered Pansy. "You thought he was doing this of his own will? So soon after the war, and you're already slipping. Pathetic!"

She spat in his face, making him cringe with disgust. Wiping his cheek on his sleeve as best as he could, he tightened his jaw and glared up at the woman defiantly. "You going to gag me, too?" he gritted out.

She smiled, a cruel smile filler with malice. "Only you annoy me."

There was a silence as Pansy and Blaise checked each person's restraints to make sure there was no chance of any of them breaking free. Harry's were so tight he felt as though his skin was about to come off of each place where the rough ropes came into contact with it.

Finally, Pansy clapped her hands together. "Now, to business." Pacing in front of Harry, Ron, and Hermione with her back facing Draco, she said, "Each and every one of you are here because you made Blaise and I pissed off." She stopped pacing suddenly, directly in front of Hermione, her eyes glinting dangerously. "Now, you are here, we are alone, and we can punish you as we see fit. For instance!"

It happened in a blur of movement. One moment, Pansy had been standing still, the next there was a flash of silver and a scream of pain: Pansy had unsheathed a knife and slit a large gash down Hermione's chest.

"HERMIONE!" Ron bellowed, trying and failing to struggle free from his bonds. "I'll kill you!" he roared at Pansy. She cackled madly.

Hermione was breathing heavily, trying to calm herself. Harry could tell even from his position furthest from her that the wound had been shallow. It was likely that she had screamed less in pain and more with surprise and fear. But that didn't stop him from worrying.

Presently, his anticipation for possible danger had turned into fear and anger. He looked back at Draco, glancing at the bare skin where he could clearly see the Dark Mark, as dark and bold as it ever was, branded on his skin.

"Now that you know I'm serious," continued Pansy, as though nothing had happened. She reached into the jacket she was wearing, pulling from it a letter. "A gift," she said airily, waving it under Draco's nose, who paled considerably. Pansy laughed at the sight of his face. "You didn't really think we'd sent one only to your mother, did you?" Draco looked as though he might be sick.

"Let's see," she said, slitting open the letter. She unfolded it, and upon giving it a quick glance, laughed coldly once more. This alone made Harry be filled with dread. Who was the letter from? What did it say? Nothing good, if Pansy was amused by it. But he was powerless to do anything but watch as she handed the letter to Blaise, who grinned at whatever was written there.

"Well, it's quite short," she said, frowning slightly as the letter was handed back to her once more. "I suppose I should read it aloud so that your friends" —she uttered the word with contempt— "may hear what it has to say." Clearing her throat, she raised her voice in an articulate, ringing tone that made it impossible for anyone to miss a word. "'Go back to whatever hell-hole you crawled from, and return only when you have my son, monster.'"

There was a silence. It didn't take a genius to figure out who the letter was from, or what it was referring to. Surprisingly, Draco looked as though the answer was completely expected, which, Harry realized, it probably was. He lifted his chin and raised his eyebrows nonchalantly as Pansy turned to him, but she was unperturbed by his lack of reaction.

"Don't try to look unfazed, I know it's a lie," she said to him, smirking.

His expression didn't change, but Harry thought he saw something flicker in his eyes.

"Blaise, you've been awfully quiet throughout all this. Would you care to explain the next part? The real reason why they're here?"

Blaise stepped forward haughtily, approaching Harry slowly and with a smirk, hungry eyes boring into his. Harry felt a flutter of panic. "It's time for you to come clean, Potter," he said. "There are more than a few mysteries surrounding the Boy Who Lived, but we just want to know one of them." He crouched down in front of Harry now, leaning in close. So close, that Harry could see every fleck of black mixed in with the brown of his eyes. So close, the he could feel the tickle of his breath against his skin. He leaned away as best as he could in his position, but Blaise was unrelenting. He was a solid, impenetrable wall. He was a rising tidal wave barreling into an unfortunate town. He was Nagini, Voldemort's snake, poised to strike—

"At seventeen," said Blaise, "you were running scared. You successfully broke into Gringotts, organized a battle at Hogwarts, and willingly walked into the Forbidden Forest and let the Dark Lord kill you in front of countless witnesses. And yet, at seventeen, you survived the Killing Curse once again and defeated the most powerful man in the world. _How_."

Harry had known the question was coming from the beginning of this rant. Already, he had prepared his reply, the half-truths that would conceal his secret, and knew he had no need to lie.

He thought of Draco's seemingly unaffected manner. Deciding to take a leaf from the Slytherin boy's book and did something he knew to be unexpected.

He smiled.

Blaise was taken aback. Harry knew why, for he was surprised by his own actions as well. But then came his answer, the very Slytherin answer, his mouth opening and spilling out the words impulsively.

"Voldemort killed himself."

Blaise's brows creased, flummoxed. His mouth was opening and closely like a fish, making Pansy hiss in annoyance.

"Budge up, moron," she snapped, shoving him aside. She stood before Harry, breathing heavily, and demanded, "Say that again."

Harry's smile had somewhat vanished almost entirely, for he was no Slytherin. Perhaps Draco would still be grinning, had he been in Harry's position, but as he'd told Harry weeks before, he was _'as Gryffindor as they get.'_

He obliged to Pansy's request, this time with defiance. "Voldemort killed himself."

Her lips were parted, jaw tight, and she glared down at Harry. "Liar," she growled. "Tell the truth!"

"I am."

"Liar!"

The blade whipped across his face like it did across Hermione's chest, and the cut stung tremendously. Shallow cuts were the most horrible, Harry concluded, for the incessant, prickling pain seemed never-ending. To his left, he heard Hermione scream and Ron yell, as well as a muffled yelp or cry from Draco.

Opening the eyes that had shut instinctively as the sharp object had slid across his skin, he glared fiercely at Pansy, but opted to stay quiet at the sight of her face. She wore an expression of such hate that it appeared as though she would mar his face once more if he did so much as breathed.

"I'm going to ask this once more, Potter," she hissed viciously. "How did you survive the Killing Curse and defeat the Dark Lord? Answer honestly, this time, and I won't peel the skin off your face."

Harry stared into her eyes, repeating himself once more with the most level and honest voice he could muster. "Voldemort killed himself."

"Explain, then!" Pansy cried, wringing her hands. "Explain how that is possible!"

Harry cast his mind around for an acceptable explanation. Finally, he settled on saying, "It was his own ambition that killed him, in the end."

"What ambition!?" Pansy shrieked. "Answer me! Answer me now! _CRUCIO!"_

He let out a strangled scream as fire crawled up his skin, filled his veins, burned his bones. A thousand knives were scratching at his skin, doing what Pansy had said she would: piercing it before taking the loose ends of skin and pulling, pulling until it began to peel, leaving vulnerable flesh exposed—then came the feeling of a million needles all stabbing his skin at once, or perhaps it was a million wasps pricking his skin, leaving a fiery pain behind—next he felt as though he was supporting the weight of the sky on his shoulders, as the Greek titan Atlas had for an eternity. His muscles were aching, his blood was on fire, his head was being split open again and again and again and again—

As suddenly as it had started, it stopped. He was slumped in his chair, panting and sweating and shaking all at once. From a distance, he could hear Hermione screaming once more. Ron was shouting himself hoarse. He struggled to sit up, his ears ringing, his muscles aching as though they'd run a thousand miles. Shaking his head, he opened his eyes, but found the light too bright and the world too spiny. How long had he been held under the curse? His head was pounding too much to think properly. Had it been seconds? Minutes? Hours? He had no way of knowing.

His hearing was beginning to come back, and his vision cleared just enough to see Pansy's face swim into view.

"Potter," she hissed, her voice distant and echoing, as though she were speaking through a long tube. "Tell me this, then. Where is the Elder Wand?"

He gasped. "No!"

The pain consumed him once more. When it stopped and he regained a bit of consciousness, he could hear Hermione's screams—louder now—as well as strange banging noises. Carefully opening his eyes, he discovered that the light was no longer too bright, though the world continued to blur and spin around him. And there seemed to be red, green, white, and blue lights flashing around him everywhere. What was going on? How long had he been under?

The screams and bangs were becoming sharper, and the world had stopped spinning. Squinting around him, he could just barely make out a blurry mass of blond-blue hair—Draco. There was a darting black shadow, too, and Harry watched as several lights seemed to stream from it—not lights, he realized, but spells. An onslaught of them. And the figure... the figure...

Blinking rapidly, Harry's vision and hearing cleared significantly. Now only slightly blurred at the edges, the black shadow was revealed to be Neville Longbottom, who was firing curse after curse at another figure across the room: Pansy Parkinson. As he watched, she screamed in anger, firing a deadly jet of green light at Neville as Harry watched in horror. It missed him by inches, but it was clear that it wouldn't for much longer; Harry could already see Neville beginning to tire, and his movements were starting to slow. Harry had to act. But what could he do?

Suddenly, there was a cry of, "Dumbledore!"

Pansy gasped, whipping around to look at the exit, momentarily forgetting in her panic that the man was dead and gone. And in that moment, Neville struck, a simple, _"Stupefy!"_ rendering the confused Pansy immobile and sending her crashing to the floor. There was a thud, a crack of breaking glass as something toppled from its position on a desk, and then a silence.

Neville, his eyes clear and panicked, turned to them. "Are you guys alright?"


	10. Chapter 9-The Right Question

DRACO

He was untied, his gag was removed, and he had never felt more relieved.

Harry's tortured screams still seemed to be ringing about the room. From the looks on Ron's and Hermione's faces, he could tell they could still hear them, too. He shook his head as if he could shake the sound away.

Neville looked immensely guilty, but it was misplaced. It wasn't in any way Longbottom's fault that he hadn't fought off the Curse sooner. In fact, in a way, it was Draco's fault. He'd spent years surrounded by Imperiused Witches and Wizards. He should have recognized it sooner, on the day he'd bumped into the disoriented Neville at the top of the staircase.

But that wasn't his main concern now. As soon as he was free from his bonds, he stood and staggered over to where Harry sat. He was blinking rapidly, and his eyes slid across him, unfocused. Draco began working at the bonds trapping him in place, feeling a strange sort of urgency he couldn't quite understand. Finally, after several minutes of work, he managed to free Harry and helped lower him gently onto the floor. Harry groaned in pain at the motion, clutching his head. Draco immediately wished for a pillow. With the conveniency of the Room of Requirement, a few appeared only feet from him; he reached over and selected a rather cushy one from the pile. Carefully, he lifted Harry's head and slid the pillow in the space underneath. He let out a sigh as his pain was eased.

Draco crouched beside him in silence, simply watching him, ready to move quickly if he was needed. Soon, Harry's eyes were drooping, and his breathing turned even. Draco let him sleep; the boy deserved it.

Ron was now freed from his bonds, too. He dashed over, kneeling beside his best mate opposite to Draco. "Is he okay?" he croaked.

Draco nodded.

The two boys sat together in silence, waiting. Only when Hermione had joined them did one move; Ron turned to look at his girlfriend and ran a careful hand over her wounded chest. She waved him off.

"I'm fine. I'm fine, Ronald." She turned her worried eyes to the unmoving form beside her. "How's Harry? Is he okay?"

Draco nodded once more. "Unconscious," he told her, reaching down impulsively to check Harry's pulse. One touch on his wrist told him it was beating strong, but he didn't move his hand.

Hermione sighed in relief, gazing at her friend as though scared he may disappear if she looked away for even a moment. Ron, meanwhile, stood to check the unconscious forms of Pansy and Blaise.

Suddenly, Hermione let out a faint whimper. Almost inaudibly, she murmured, "Voldemort's dead... this year was supposed to be alright! He's already been through so much..."

He has, Draco agreed, though he did not say it aloud; he was positive Hermione had not meant for him to hear. Under his fingers, he continued to feel the steady rhythm of Harry's heartbeat. He felt a sudden rush of an emotion, but he couldn't quite place what it was.

"What should we do with this scum?" Ron called from across the room, glaring at the bodies of Pansy and Blaise.

Hermione stood, turning from Harry to assist. "Oh, I don't know. We have to report this... Maybe leave them outside and ask Professor McGonagall for help?"

Draco tuned the two out; he could hardly care less what they planned on doing. He had his own ideas, and what he had previously had been unable to do he was now determined to accomplish.

Releasing Harry's wrist at last, he stood and approached Pansy. From her unconscious figure he fetched his wand, his father's letter, and his necklace from a pocket in her cloak and tucked each but his wand safely into a drawer. Then he assisted Ron, Hermione, and Neville in the long, arduous process of cleaning.

* * *

HARRY

Only a few days had passed since the events of the Room of Requirement, but he wasn't feeling tremendously better. Splitting headaches were a constant, and he was always exhausted. Hermione had told him the approximate time of his torture: a stunning three or four minutes. Harry, upon hearing this, suddenly understood why he needed so much time recovering.

A large chunk of what had happened after his torture was missing. According to his friends, Pansy had had her wand trained on him when Neville suddenly moved, swiftly and skillfully knocking Blaise out cold. Unfortunately, Pansy had enough time to dive for cover, causing the ensuing battle to be much longer and much more perilous for Neville than it would have otherwise. For about five minutes they had fought, Ron, Hermione, and Draco all bound and therefore powerless to do anything. Then Draco had the brilliant idea to distract Pansy with his cry of, Dumbledore! From there, Harry knew what had happened, though Hermione and Ron complained about the laborious work of cleaning and disposing of the enemies' bodies, making Harry laugh.

Pansy and Blaise had been reported to the Headmistress, and their punishments were soon to be determined. Unfortunately, McGonagall was fighting against their parents, Mr. Zabini and Mrs. Parkinson alike, which was slowing things down tremendously. They kept arguing against Pansy and Blaise's expulsions or suspensions, trying to convince McGonagall to simply give them detention and take away house points. It was infuriating, and Harry knew that if she'd had it her way, she'd have sent them out a long time ago.

Meanwhile, Pansy and Blaise had been moved to their own private quarters, away from the prying eyes of the student body and all possible future victims. Harry was secretly relieved to hear this, as he wanted them as far away from people, himself included, as possible.

Neville, on the other hand, was feeling immeasurably guilty. No matter how many times Harry, Ron, and Hermione told him it wasn't his fault, that he had saved them, that they should be the ones apologizing to him for not noticing sooner, he continued to blame himself. Harry, while entirely disagreeing with Neville's misplaced guilt, found that he could relate. He, too, found himself constantly wondering about the 'what if's of the War. What if he hadn't encouraged Cedric to take the portkey with him? What if he hadn't gone to the Ministry of Magic to save Sirius? What if hadn't uttered the name 'Voldemort' when it was taboo? What if he hadn't gone to find Voldemort in time to witness Snape's death? And now, a new one: what if he had Apparated Draco Malfoy to Shell Cottage when they had been caught at Malfoy Manor?

The aforementioned boy seemed to be hiding, however, constantly locked up in the Room of Requirement since the day of Pansy and Blaise's attack, refusing to let anyone in. It had irritated him to no end, and yet Harry had allowed this for the first few days. But now, on the fourth day of Draco hiding himself from the world, Harry'd had enough.

"Draco!" he shouted at the blank wall that concealed the Room of Requirement, banging on it hard with his fist. "Open up, now!"

There was no response.

Frustrated and quite frankly having run out of patience, he drew his wand. "Fine! If you don't open this door in three seconds, I'm going to blast it down! One!" he shouted, glaring menacingly at the wall. "Two!" Maybe Draco wouldn't open it. Maybe Harry would actually break a hole in the door of the Room. "Three!" He was going to do it. Raising his wand, he pointed it at the door and shouted,_ "Reduc— "_

The door opened with a snap, revealing a thoroughly pissed-off Draco Malfoy. "Alright, alright!" he shouted, glaring. "Get in."

Grinning with his victory, Harry stowed his wand in his pocket and followed Draco inside.

"What the— "

The place had been transformed. Countless bookcases lined the walls, a messy desk was shoved into a corner along with a bed right beside it, and hundreds of blank rolls of parchment littered the floor. Harry looked up from the mess, raising his eyebrows at Draco.

"Doing a bit of research?" he asked rhetorically.

"Practice," Draco corrected, running a hand through his messy hair. "For Charms class," he added quickly.

"Don't give me that rubbish," Harry snapped, squinting at the books on the bookcases. "These aren't Charms book. What in hell have you been up to?"

Draco, suddenly defensive, glared. "Nothing of your concern, Potter."

"Oh, so I'm 'Potter' now, eh?" he fired back, turning to face him again. "Does that make you 'Malfoy' again?"

"Sure. Whatever. I don't care." He sounded truthfully indifferent. This only made Harry angrier.

"Well, I'm sure your research is going fabulously," he said sarcastically. "Something about this mess just screams to me 'successful magic'."

Draco grit his teeth, turning away. "Go to dinner, Potter."

"Absolutely not," said Harry firmly. "Not until you tell me what you've been working on."

"I told you it's nothing!" Draco said, wheeling around and taking a few menacing steps closer to Harry. "Now go away!"

He stood his ground. "The books here are all on Dark Magic. That doesn't sound like 'nothing' to me."

"What, you don't trust me, is that it?" Draco sneered. "You think I'm out for everyone's blood, just like everyone else thinks?"

Harry immediately shook his head, suddenly regretting what he'd said. "No, I just meant— "

"That I'm evil? That I'm still a Death Eater? That I'm plotting to destroy the castle and its students?" Though his tone was menacing, Harry saw a flash of hurt in his eyes. He had no clue where this was coming from, but he supposed Draco had been keeping this outburst bottled up for days, only now allowing it to seep through the cracks.

"No, it's not that," he insisted. "It's— "

"Have you seen the looks I get, Potter?" Draco barreled on, taking another step forward. "The first-years are all terrified of me, almost as if I'm about to sprout fangs and eat one of them alive."

"That's their prob— "

"And the older students," he continued. Harry began backing away as he stepped even closer. "They want to kill me. Quite literally, might I add. I can see it in their eyes. I always expect to be attacked every time I step out of this room. I'm amazed I haven't been yet. How long do you suppose it will take for me to end up in the hospital wing, hm?"

Harry had now hit the wall. He could go back no further. Watching the approaching figure stop just a few inches from his face, he looked into the fiery gray eyes that seemed to be burning a hole through his green ones.

"Tell me, Harry," Draco continued, his voice suddenly terrifyingly calm. "Is that what you think when you see me?"

Harry stared at the boy in front of him, holding his gaze. _He has pretty eyes,_ said a voice in his head randomly. Harry shook his head. "Of course not," he said aloud. "You know I don't."

Draco's gray eyes were searching Harry's expression thoroughly, looking for any hint of a lie. But when none came, he let out a sigh, head bowing in defeat and a slight tinge of red staining his cheeks.

"I'm sorry," he muttered, avoiding Harry's eyes. "I didn't mean—sorry."

Harry nodded. "It's alright."

A silence fell between the two. Finally, Harry broke it, suddenly realizing what Draco was up to.

"Don't," he said.

Draco looked up in confusion. "Don't what?"

"Don't go looking for revenge," Harry clarified. "They're not worth it."

Taking a few steps away from him, he said, "It would make me feel better."

"I'm sure. But it's not worth it. Don't lower yourself to their level."

Draco said nothing. Harry's mind was whirling, grasping desperately for something to take Draco's mind off the dangerous path he was treading.

"Is it a distraction you want?" he asked. "Because if it is, I've got one for you."

Draco tried to hide his interest, but failed miserably. "Go on," he said.

"Well, Hermione gave me a sort of... puzzle," he began. "She's hiding something. Apparently it has something to do with you and me, but it's nothing dangerous or anything like that. No advanced spellwork we don't already know about is necessary. And according to her, in order to answer the question all I need is my own head and a possible 'awakening', whatever that means. Also, the only reason why you don't know yet is because you 'haven't come to terms' or something like that."

He looked at Draco's perplexed expression. "Any ideas of what it might be?"

Draco looked down; Harry assumed he was doing some serious thinking. After a long pause, he met Harry's eyes. "Some, but I need to ask you some questions first."

Harry was taken aback. "Why?"

"Well, Hermione said you already know the answer, you just need an 'awakening', right? Well, maybe with the right questions I can figure it out." Draco shrugged.

Harry thought that over for a moment, then nodded. "All right, ask away."

"Are you currently getting less than average grades in any class of yours?" Draco began.

"Erm, History of Magic," he answered, "but that's a given. Otherwise, no."

"Has Hermione been badgering you about it?" Draco pressed.

"Nah, she's used to it."

"What about Ron? Has he been acting at all weirdly lately?"

"Not at all."

"Why aren't you playing on the Quidditch team this year?"

Harry was taken aback. "Er... I wanted to escape the fame a bit. Why aren't you?"

Draco laughed without humor. "And get mauled over the head for being a blood traitor by my own teammates? Yeah, I don't think so."

Harry said nothing.

"Why didn't Weasley join?" Draco continued after a pause.

Harry shook his head. "Same reason as mine."

Draco nodded. "Well... where was I?" He thought for a moment. Then he said, "Where are the other Gryffindors of your year? Not including Ron, Hermione, Neville or yourself, of course."

"Well... Parvati Patil—disappeared" —He swallowed— "Dean and Seamus didn't return for an eighth year, either. I don't know why."

Draco nodded, thinking. Finally, he asked, "When did she start this mystery?"

"Erm... right after you got that howler," Harry told him.

The change was immediate. At his words, Draco's eyes widened in understanding, lips parting in surprise, forming a breathless, "Oh."

Harry watched him, fingers twitching in anticipation. "Did you figure it out? What is it?"

Draco's gray eyes, still wide in shock, avoided his. "I— I— " he sputtered, seeming to be at loss for words. Harry leaned forward with excitement. He knew! He was finally going to know the answer! Listening intently so he would not miss a word, he gestured eagerly for Draco to continue, but— "I think you'll have to ask Hermione," Draco said finally.

Harry's jaw dropped. "What? Why? You know what it is, right?" At Draco's nod, he shook his head slightly. "So why won't you tell me?"

Draco was still carefully avoiding his gaze. "It's just... well... I don't know what she was thinking... probably did it for a laugh... "

"Did _what_ for a laugh?" Harry was losing his patience fast.

Draco laughed nervously. "Er... well... she, erm... I—I'm not sure."

"It doesn't sound that way."

"Yeah, well, it's true. Forget I said anything."

Draco, now incredibly red on the face, turned away awkwardly. Harry grit his teeth in annoyance. What the hell? Just a few moments before Draco had been completely focused on solving this new mystery. Now he knew the answer, and was refusing to tell him. Why? Why did he care?

Not willing to let him leave, he grabbed Draco's arm, wrenching him back. "Don't you dare!" he snapped. "You have to tell me!"

Draco was trying to pull away, still not looking at him. "Potter—let go— "

"No," he said firmly, his anger returning. "Not until you tell me what the answer is."

Draco hissed in anger. "It's nothing! It's absolutely nothing, Potter! Now let me go!"

But Harry's grip only tightened. "'Potter' again? You know, I'm the only reason why you got the chance to work on this stupid puzzle, anyway. I'm the one who told you the answers to figure it out. You could at least tell me!"

Draco's body was facing him fully now. He pulled away with all his might, but Harry grabbed on with both hands, refusing to let go. Draco's eyes were still purposefully avoiding going anywhere near his face, making Harry's blood boil in anger, reminding him of Dumbledore doing the same to him in fifth year, trying to protect him from Voldemort and his Death Eaters...

"Malfoy—you—LOOK AT ME!"

Draco did. Head snapping up, his gray eyes flickered momentarily with something Harry couldn't place.

"Draco— " he began.

But before he could finish, Draco moved. It was as if some rope tethering him somewhere had snapped. He pushed Harry back forcefully, causing Harry to slip slightly on one of the many loose pieces of parchment laying on the ground. Catching himself before he could fall, he gasped as his back hit the wall, not in pain but in shock, and looked up just in time to see a flash of blond hair before Draco was upon him, grabbing his face and neck with both hands and pressing their lips together.

He tensed, body frozen in shock as Draco moved his mouth against his. His brain seemed to have stopped functioning, and was now only producing static. He arms lay loose by his sides. What was happening? What was Draco doing? Why wasn't Harry shoving him away? Yet he did nothing but stand stock still, rigid as a board as Draco's soft, warm lips continued to press against his, slowly but firmly. How long had he been letting him do this? Barely more than a few seconds, he realized, and yet it felt... it felt... it felt alright, he supposed. Better than alight. It felt...

He couldn't lie; it felt amazing.

Slowly, he found himself relaxing. Draco's lips were caressing his gently now, and he was gradually responding, kissing back. He felt the last bit of tension leave him as he closed his eyes and lifted his arms to lightly trace up and down Draco's, finally coming to rest on his shoulders. The stone wall behind him was the only thing keeping him from falling as Draco pressed slightly closer. Their bodies fit together with ease. One of Draco's hands reached up to play with his hair, and he could barely breathe as Draco pried his lips apart with a tantalizing tongue.

He never wanted it to end. And yet as Draco's fingers began to explore, tracing the curve of Harry's biceps, slipping hands under his shirt, sliding up to feeling the beat of his heartbeat—

"Draco," Harry panted.

"Hm," Draco hummed against his mouth, tugging at his shirt. Cool air hit his abdomen.

"Draco," he repeated, breathless. Then, more firmly this time, "Draco—stop."

Draco stilled, tensing against him. He pulled back worriedly. "Did I— "

"No, no," Harry interrupted him, already knowing what he was going to say. "No, nothing like that. That was—that was— " He found it hard to think of a word to properly describe what, exactly, it was.

Draco relaxed, however, seeming to understand. Then, tilting his head slightly, he asked, "Then why— "

"I don't know," said Harry slowly. "It just—doesn't seem like the time."

Again, Draco seemed to understand, nodding. Harry gave him a nervous smile, which he returned.

As Draco stepped back, the full reality of the situation hit him. He, Harry Potter, had just kissed a _boy_. Not just any boy either, but_ Draco Malfoy_, his sworn enemy at eleven who'd turned friend at eighteen. And he'd _liked_ it. A lot. More than a lot.

And then, as he thought of the events leading up to the kiss, he realized:

"Hermione!"

Draco jumped, whipping around to spot her. But when he noticed The Room's distinctive lack of other living beings, he turned back with questioning eyes.

"She knew!" Harry shouted.

Draco grinned. "I know. It makes a lot of sense."

Harry stared at him, horrorstruck. Was he really such an open book? And if so, how many other 'secrets' of his did the Wizarding World know?

Oblivious to Harry's inner turmoil, Draco grinned. "I suppose you know what the right question is now? Or do you need my help?" He licked his lips suggestively. "I don't mind."

Harry threw a book at him.


	11. Chapter 10-Shock

HARRY

Nervously, Harry approached Hermione.

He had solved her puzzle. He knew what the right question was. Presently, there was only the issue of telling Hermione that he knew, something which made his heart beat faster than he thought possible.

Six days had passed since his encounter with Draco. Six days of research into his sexuality, six days of meeting up with Draco in the library to study 'for potions', six days of the most innocent questions suddenly becoming the most difficult to answer. And now, here he was, having been convinced to tell her that he knew by Draco, and feeling increasingly more fearful with every step he took.

It wasn't that he worried she would take it with violence or cruelty as Draco's father had, for if she had guessed it all this time and never confronted him for it then he figured she must be accepting. Still, something was turning him into a nervous wreck, something he couldn't make heads or tails of.

Gulping, he stopped a few feet behind Hermione, who was seated at a table in the library, now frozen in fear. What had he been thinking? How could he have possibly thought this was a good idea? Thankfully, she had her back turned to him, and was oblivious to the inner turmoil warring inside Harry's brain. Or so he thought, until—

"I assume you now know the right question?" she said, turning to face him.

He stared at her and nodded slowly, dumbfounded. "How did you know?" he asked, taking a seat in the chair beside her.

She chuckled. "Harry, it's written all over your face. And it was very suspicious to see you so suddenly involved in studying all the time. Especially for potions."

"Well, I was doing research," he defended.

"What, researching Draco Malfoy's jawline?"

"No!" he cried, cheeks ablaze. Hermione smirked. "Nothing like that! I was actually researching all the different sexualities. There are quite a lot of them. Draco was just there to help me. And I think I've figured it out, too." He paused, then forged ahead. "I think I'm bisexual."

Hermione nodded. "Makes sense. I knew you really did like Ginny at one point. You're too good of a person to lie about that."

She smiled at him for a moment, then spoke in a brisk tone. Harry knew it well. It was the voice Hermione used when speaking about schoolwork: all business with no room for distraction.

"Well, I've got an Arithmancy essay due in a few days, and I just can't make professor Vector disappointed, so I've really got to return to this. Just make sure to tell Ron gently, okay? I don't want him hyperventilating before our tests."

Harry stared at her in amazement. "The tests are still months away, Hermione!"

"And they're incredibly important!" Hermione scolded. "I honestly don't know why I haven't started studying for them sooner."

Harry shook his head. He still couldn't understand that after everything they'd been through—the war, the deaths of their friends—Hermione still found the time and effort to excessively worry about her grades.

He should probably be thankful for her fastidiousness, however. That trait of hers had saved his butt more times than he could count.

Suddenly, her previous words sank in. Frowning, he looked up from where he'd been studying his shoes, lost in thought, to say to Hermione's now turned back, "Why would Ron hyperventilate?"

She looked at him with a huff. "Honestly! Do I really need to answer that question?"

Harry nodded darkly, now worried.

Hermione sighed, shaking her head at his stupidity. "Okay, look. The Weasley's and Malfoy's are about at close as you would be to a rocket ship blasting off. So you going to be suddenly gay for Draco, that would be a lot for his slow brain to handle." She said the last part as if in acquiescence, resigned to the fact that she, the brightest witch of her age, had fallen in love with an idiot. "Besides," she continued, "he still thinks you're with his sister, so that will be another thing you'd have to let him know about. Otherwise, he'd be hyperventilating over the fact that you're gay for Draco and are cheating on his sister. See what I mean?"

Harry grimaced, realizing everything she had said to be true. What was he going to do? Tell Ron everything at once? He owed it to him, Harry knew, yet he for sure wished to spare his friend from an anxiety attack. So what options did that leave him with?

Virtually none, he realized, except for telling him one thing after the other with a good, long break in between. But he didn't want to keep secrets, not from his best friend...

"Just tell him, Harry," said Hermione in his silence, her back to him once more. "Rip the bandaid off. It'll be better."

Harry sighed, resigned to his own fate regarding Ronald Weasley as well.

* * *

Partially accepting Hermione's advice, Harry told Ron solely about his ended relationship with Ginny that night in the Gryffindor Common Room.

He'd decided not to _rip the bandaid off,_ as Hermione had put it, and refrained from telling Ron the whole scandal about the right question. He was glad he didn't. Ron listened to his explanation intently, his expression blank and unchanging throughout the entire thing. Harry, feeling awkward, nervous, and scared all at once, was stuttering and rambling on and on and on for much longer than necessary. On several occasions, he almost let slip more than he intended. Once he finally finished, Ron wordlessly turned and walked out the portrait hole.

He gulped. Mentally cursing himself, he collapsed onto a chair with a groan, feeling more horrible than he had felt in a while. Hermione, who was reading from an abnormally large book beside him, snapped it shut and grinned, despite his long face.

"Harry, come on, brighten up!" she said merrily.

"How can I?" Harry replied miserably. "He probably hates me."

"Oh, no! Not at all!" It was the assurance in her voice that made him look up in hope.

"Really?"

"Yes!" Hermione cried happily. "He took that amazingly well, for Ron! Oh my goodness, maybe I've been underestimating him for all these years. Do you think I should go apologize?"

Harry shook his head quickly. "One more surprise, and I think he'll implode."

Hermione laughed. "Don't be so dramatic. And maybe you were right not to tell him about Draco. I think he would've combusted."

He glanced around the room to make sure no one had heard her. "Keep your voice down!"

She laughed. Gathering her books in her arms, she gave him a smile. "I think I'll turn in early tonight. See you in the morning!"

With that, she turned and climbed the stairs to the girl's dormitory, positively skipping in good spirits.

If only her joy would last.

* * *

The letter arrived the next day.

Hermione, digging into her eggs and reading The Daily Prophet intently, barely noticed the second owl until it had landed right before her eyes. Her brows creasing, she leaned forward and removed the parchment from its leg, allowing the bird to set off again.

Frowning, she turned the letter over in her hands. Harry leaned forward interestedly. "Who's it from?" He tried to ignore the empty seat beside him: Ron had previously left after grabbing only a slice of bread, claiming he needed a walk. Harry was no fool, however, and he knew it was only to distance himself from him and Hermione.

"I don't know," Hermione replied slowly. "It doesn't have an address."

"Is it a Howler?" said Harry worriedly, thinking of Pansy and Blaise. But even as he uttered the words, he could tell it was not.

"No," said Hermione, confirming his thoughts. "Still..." Smartly, she took out her wand, performing a few spells to be sure there were no malignant hexes, jinxes, or curses on it. When she found nothing, she took in in her hand and slit it open.

Harry was leaning almost half off his seat in trepidation. He narrowed his eyes as Hermione unfolded the parchment, took one glance at it, and promptly gasped and fell off her chair in horror, dropping the letter as if it were a bomb.

Quickly, Harry snatched up the letter to read it, and upon seeing the words written there felt as though he would join Hermione. For there, written in jagged, slashed letters were two words traced in red ink:

_They're dead._

Horrorstruck, Harry shook his head. "It's a trick, Hermione. Don't listen to it. They, whoever they are, are just trying to scare you."

But Hermione just shook her head, tears welling in her eyes. "No Harry," she choked. "They're not. Look at it."

Harry obeyed. Squinting closely at the words written there, he saw no pattern, no code, nothing. Nothing but the strange, jagged writing and vibrant, red words...

Red words...

_Red_ words...

Terror seeped into his every pore as he realized just why Hermione was acting the way she was. Because what he'd mistaken for ink was not, in fact, ink, but—

"Blood," he whispered.

Before he could say anymore, he heard footsteps behind him. Turning, sure that his face was white as a sheet, he saw Draco Malfoy striding towards him, frowning.

"I have to tell you something," he told Harry in a low voice, sitting down beside him. Noticing his pale features, he asked, "Are you okay?"

Harry only stared at him in horror. He did not need Draco to tell him, for he was sure he already knew what it was. Praying with every ounce of his being that he was wrong, he took a deep breath and spoke in barely a whisper.

"Tell me Pansy and Blaise haven't gone," he begged. "Tell me that's not why you came here."

Draco froze, the blood draining from his face too. "What's happened?"

"Tell me they're not gone!"

He gulped. Suddenly unable to meet Harry's eyes, he looked down at his lap and nodded. "Yes. They're gone. They went missing last night."

Harry's stomach dropped as Hermione let out a small whimper. He looked at her, keeping tight hold of the small pulse of hope in his chest as he said, "It-it may be a fake. A ploy. It could be— "

"It's not," moaned Hermione miserably, and he knew she was right. The chances of either Blaise or Pansy purposefully injuring themselves for a bit of revenge they wouldn't even be a witness to was slim.

"But then—who could it have been? Who could they have—have— " He didn't seem to be able to speak the word.

Hermione looked down, a fresh wave of tears running down her face as she muttered a single word: "Australia."

_No..._

Harry couldn't believe it. Hermione's parents, vulnerable from the memory charm their own daughter had placed upon them—And to think that only yesterday she'd been skipping into the girls' dormitory without a care in the world, not knowing what would come to be—

But maybe—maybe it wasn't true. Maybe it was fake. Deep down, he knew he was wrong.

Hermione's head suddenly snapped up in panic. "Ron!" she cried. "Ron! He went outside! I haven't—did he return? Did he come back to the common room? He—he doesn't know!"

The three—Draco, albeit slightly lost, included—jumped up without a second thought and raced from the Hall. As Harry ran, fear and panic consumed him. If anything happened to Ron—He hadn't been able to say goodbye—

He was vaguely aware of bellowing Ron's name as they sprinted onto the grounds, the beating of his heart the only sound he could hear as he ran and ran and ran, eyes searching desperately for his friend...

There. By the side of the lake, absentmindedly skipping stones. Upon hearing their calls, he turned just in time to see a mound of bushy brown hair barrel into him, hugging him tightly.

"Oof—Hermione! Wha—what's wrong? Why are you crying? What's happened?"

Harry sighed as he skidded to a halt before the embracing couple. He felt as though he'd just been relieved from the burden of a thousand-pound weight.

After a few moments, Hermione let go, sobbing in both relief and terror. Ron, looking from her anguish to Harry's stare, demanded, "What happened!"

Harry didn't answer. Instead, he rushed forward and gripped his friend tightly, images of war and torture and death flashing through his mind, yesterdays conversation completely forgotten.

Ron patted his back. Then his muscles contracted as he gripped Harry by the shoulders and pushed him away. "What happened," he commanded, his voice low and fierce.

Harry handed him the letter.

"Pansy and Blaise made their escape yesterday," he said hoarsely. "It's written in blood."

Hermione suddenly rose, having been crouched on the ground and trembling with terror. Now, she stool still and in control, her expression a mask of anger and determination.

"Harry, Ron, Draco," she said, her voice even and remorseful. "I'm sorry."

Harry furrowed his brows. "What— "

_"Impedimenta!"_

He froze, the spell taking effect before he had time to say another word. By the ceasing of movement on either side, he knew Draco and Ron had been hit as well. Hermione lowered her wand, watching them sadly.

"I'm really sorry," she told them, truly sounding apologetic. "But I know you'd never let me go otherwise."

_No, Hermione!_ Harry tried pleading with her, but no sound came out.

"If you need me, I'll be in Australia," she went on. "I can't stay here without knowing. I can't. And I'm sorry for that, but I know I won't regret it."

She wouldn't, Harry knew, and he also knew she was more than able to take care of herself. But if something happened to her—

_Please don't go_, he tried telling her.

She smiled sadly. "See you guys soon." Then, bitting her bottom lip, she sprinted away, heading for the front gates.

Harry knew there was no chance of them catching up to her. Yet as soon as he unfroze and regained control of his muscles he took off, the other two following him as fast as they could. Ron quickly overtook the others, his long legs and desperation working in his favor. But even as he ran as fast as his legs would carry him there was a loud _crack_, and Harry knew Hermione had gone.


	12. Chapter 11-Him

HARRY

"What're we gonna do?"

Harry, Ron, and Draco sat miserably at their rendezvous point a few days after Hermione's escape, heads hung low and eyes downcast. They'd tried everything to find her from the castle: tracking spells, patronus messages—they'd even found a map of Australia and tried to guess where she'd look first—none of which worked. To make matters worse, Ron seemed to have lost his Deluminator, meaning they couldn't find her using it either. They'd run out of ideas.

Knowing this, the classroom seemed colder to Harry than usual, the shadows longer. The others seemed to be thinking the same; Ron was staring vacantly at the pillows left on the floor, no doubt remembering that it was Hermione that had brought them there—Hermione who had considered their needs as high-priority—Hermione who was caring, thoughtful, loyal, brave, intelligent... intelligent...

Perhaps she'd been having an off-day, Harry thought bitterly, for no intelligent person would run off to Australia without backup, without resources, without plans, without anything! And for what? The slim chance that Pansy and Blaise hadn't been lying? The improbable superstition that they'd tracked down her parents and killed them? And in the highly unlikely event that it was true, what was she going to do? Kill Pansy and Blaise for revenge?

"We can't do nothing," Draco said in response to Ron's question. Harry, snapping back to the present, wildly thought of telling Ron about his current relationship with the other boy, but quickly dismissed the thought. Now was definitely not the time.

"Well, do _you_ have another idea?"

Ron's retort sounded almost like a challenge, something Draco was adept to pick up on. Narrowing his eyes at the redhead, he shot back, "Do _you?"_

Harry, sensing an argument coming on, quickly jumped in. "Come on, don't fight. Not now. If we're going to find Hermione we'll need to work together as a team. Understood?"

The other two nodded, not taking their eyes off each other.

"Good," said Harry weakly, not sure what to say next. _He_ certainly didn't have a plan, and he was sure that, for all their bravado, neither Draco nor Ron had one either. An uncomfortable silence fell.

At last, Ron piped, "We could tell McGonagall. It's not like she won't notice something's wrong for much longer. People are already asking. And—well, she's our best bet."

It was true. They'd told everyone who'd asked that Hermione was just dealing with a family emergency and had to leave immediately, which wasn't a lie. However, when they'd told this to McGonagall, Harry was sure she didn't really believe them. She'd spent too many years with Harry as her student to know that there was always more to the story.

Harry and Draco, at loss for any other ideas but to go seek her help, agreed.

The three boys stood, unbalanced and unfocused. Harry felt detached from the world. Almost as though in a dream, he walked alongside Ron and Draco, wishing that his legs wouldn't feel numb and that he could concentrate.

They walked for a while in a daze. At last, reaching the headmistress's office, they stopped. Draco cleared his throat. "Anyone know the password?" he asked.

Harry, realizing he didn't, shook his head slowly. Ron followed suit.

"Well."

The three boys stood there, unmoving, unsure of how to proceed. Then Ron, gathering some sense, shouted, "Professor McGonagall! Professor! Could you let us in? It's an emergency!"

Almost immediately, the gargoyle sprang aside, allowing them entrance. Quickly, the boys scrambled onto the moving staircase, which ascended steadily. It was too slow, Harry thought, and when they finally reached the top they all hurried to the door as one. Draco knocked.

"Come in."

They entered. Professor McGonagall sat at her desk, looking worried. Leaning forward, she asked, "What is it?"

The boys glanced at each other, unsure where to begin. Then Harry stepped forward. He was used to retelling his tales of adventure by now. He supposed he was getting quite good at it. This, rather than filling him with pride, simply made him feel extremely tired.

Nevertheless, he told McGonagall everything: Pansy and Blaise's threats, the constant meddling, the confrontation in the Room of Requirement, and their final letter, which sent Hermione running off to Australia.

McGonagall was an attentive listener. Never once did she interrupt. Instead, she watched him intently, drinking in every word. When he finished, she leaned back, seeming to be fifty years older. Lifting a hand, she rubbed her eyes tiredly.

"Potter," she said heavily, "why didn't you come to me sooner? Perhaps we could've prevented this from getting as far as it did."

Harry didn't answer. The truth was, he didn't know how to respond. Why hadn't they gone to McGonagall? It wasn't that he didn't trust her. And she was strong. She'd been a member of the Order of the Phoenix, had fought Voldemort himself—and yet, as Harry thought, he knew why he hadn't come to her for help: he was so used to dealing with his problems on his own that it hadn't even occurred to him that she was an option.

McGonagall seemed to understand. She lowered her hand and spoke in a voice softer than he'd heard it before. "The war is over, Potter. You-Know-Who is gone."

Harry avoided her eyes.

A few moments passed, Ron and Draco behind Harry shifting awkwardly. At last, McGonagall said, "I will find a way to bring back Miss Granger. To me, Parkinson and Zabini's threats are just that: threats. There is no truth behind them like there is no truth in any one of Lockhart's books." Harry remembered the dazzling buffoon that had been his Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher in his second year. "The only danger to Granger is herself. I would not worry too much."

Relieved that she thought so, Harry nodded.

McGonagall sighed. "In the meantime, I suggest you three return to your studies."

With some more nodding and a few mutters of: "Thank you," they shuffled out the door.

The weight in Harry's gut had lightened slightly. He felt much better. Because if McGonagall thought there was nothing wrong, then they shouldn't worry, right?

"But what if she's wrong?"

It was Ron. He, apparently, hadn't been convinced. In fact, he seemed downright scared. Looking at Harry, he said, "Harry, I could go, I'll find her— "

"No," said Harry firmly.

Ron's eyes were now shooting daggers. "Harry, if there's even the slightest chance— "

"No," he repeated. "McGonagall's right. The war's over. And quite frankly, I'm done with adventures."

"But Harry— "

"No."

"Harry, it's _Hermione— "_

"So? She can take care of herself, Ron— "

"How do you know that? How can you say that? What if she's in trouble? What if something's gone wrong? What if— "

"What if she's here," Draco interrupted softly.

Harry looked. There, not five paces from them, stood Hermione Granger. There wasn't a scratch on her. Her hair was in its usual bushy state. Her clothes were neat and uncreased. In her hand, she held a silver cigarette lighter: the very Deluminator Ron had found missing from his trunk. She looked exactly as she had when she'd left, except now—

Harry suddenly felt terrified.

Her face. Her skin was paler than it had been in years, her mouth trembled, and her eyes were red and puffy and bloodshot. As they watched, she swayed unsteadily, her whole body trembling—

Ron was the first to move. He ran to her, steadying her with a hand on her back and another on her arm. Hermione leaned into his touch, her eyes squeezed shut. And then she spoke, in a trembling voice so quiet and hoarse, Harry knew she'd been screaming.

"It-it wasn't just a th-threat. Th-they—they're g-gone. They're d-dead. I—I c-c

an't— "

She broke down into a wave of ugly sobbing. Ron pressed her against his chest, seemingly at loss of what to do or say other than utter unintelligible sounds of comfort.

Harry stood frozen, hardly daring to believe it. Pansy and Blaise hadn't been threatening. They'd killed Hermione's parents. They'd actually _killed_ Hermione's parents. How—how could they _possibly—_

Suddenly, Draco moved. Turning on his heel, he ran away. For a moment, Harry was angry. How could he abandon them at a time like this? Then he realized where he was headed: he was going back to McGonagall.

A few moments later, he returned, McGonagall in tow. He was talking to her in hushed tones, explaining what happened without upsetting Hermione more. As Harry watched, McGonagall nodded in understanding and made a gesture for Draco to stop. Then she approached Hermione, Draco watching worriedly from behind her.

"Miss Granger," said Professor McGonagall gently.

Hermione responded with a chocked sob.

McGonagall pursed her lips, a raging fire in her eyes. Harry felt a surge of respect for the woman. No matter what happened, she was always strongly protective of her students, and for that Harry was grateful.

"Miss Granger," she repeated. "Come."

Hermione disentangled herself from Ron, allowing herself to be led back to the headmistress's office. Ron, after a moment of hesitation, followed. Draco turned as well, but Harry grabbed his arm. "We'll meet you back in the Common Room," he told Ron.

Ron nodded. Draco looked as though he were going to argue, but decided against it. They split ways; Ron, Hermione, and Professor McGonagall going to the latter's office, Harry and Draco heading for the Room of Requirement.

When they had both slipped inside the secret doors leading to the room beyond, Harry collapsed onto the nearest sofa, burying his head in his hands. Draco sank down beside him.

A few moments passed in silence. Then Draco murmured, "What are we going to do?"

Harry had no answer. He let his arms fall to his sides, leaning back and staring at the ceiling blankly. He felt numb. Pansy and Blaise had killed Hermione's parents. Pansy and Blaise had killed Hermione's parents! He could imagine their cold smiles as they cast the Killing Curse, and Mrs. Granger fell to the floor, limp. He gulped. He didn't want to imagine it. Squeezing his eyes shut momentarily, the image in his mind wavered and vanished.

He let out a shaky breath, but his mind was still racing. Mr. and Mrs. Granger had been killed in cold blood. In cold blood... the blood! The blood on the letter! It couldn't—there was no way—the blood hadn't _actually_ belonged to them, had it? No. It couldn't have. Because if it had—

Harry suddenly felt the strong urge to vomit. _Ruthless_, he thought. Bloodthirsty.

_Death Eaters._

The war was over. And yet, the _war_—the idea of it, anyway—that hadn't died. Pureblood supremacy was still alive and thriving in the Wizarding World. Could there still be people who followed Voldemort, even after his death? Those who followed his ideas, agreed with his actions... the Death Eaters had been captured, but—could there be new ones?

For the first time in years, Harry felt terror. Pure, undiluted terror, seeming to crawl up his skin, set fire to his blood, and make his limbs numb. This was worse, far worse, than being tied up in the Room of Requirement at Pansy and Blaise's mercy. This was worse than being witness to Hermione's loss. Because if Voldemort rose again—if an organization of newly created Death Eaters formed—there, on his forehead, his scar began to prickle.

He shot to his feet, hand shooting up to clutch his scar. It was his imagination, that was all. It had to be. He had severed the connection between him and Voldemort when he'd died, destroying the Horcrux inside him. It was impossible for his scar to have truly hurt. Not after all this time.

And although he knew he was being paranoid, although he knew he was imagining things, he felt himself sway on his feet. In the distance, as though through a long tunnel, he heard Draco say something unintelligible, words that made no sense to Harry's addled brain.

Somehow, with strength Harry didn't know he possessed, he was able to pull himself back to the present. His mouth opened of his own accord, saying the words plaguing his mind in a whimpering voice quite unlike his own.

"What if they're _him?"_

Draco was silent, confirming what he already suspected: Draco thought they were _him_, too. The thought almost made him lightheaded once more, but he managed to stop it from taking its tenacious hold.

He collapsed onto the sofa again, letting himself go limp. Draco, after a moment, followed, sitting down gently beside him just like he had when they'd first entered. Together, they sat in silence, both plagued by the haunting scenes of a war that had long since passed.


	13. Chapter 12-Puzzle Pieces

DRACO

Life at Hogwarts was a blur.

No change was made other than his return to the Slytherin dorms (now that Pansy and Blaise had gone, it was safe for him to sleep there again). His routine went on as usual. Yet Draco couldn't get the image of Lord Voldemort—or the idea of him, anyway—rising again. If a new group of Death Eaters had formed—

He had to be paranoid. He tried to convince himself that as he lay in his bed each night, staring at the ceiling and unable to sleep. He must be paranoid. The war had scarred him, and it was the haunting thoughts of it that had left him terrified of the slightest whisper of danger.

And yet, Hermione's parents' murders wasn't a whisper. It was fact, plain and simple—someone had intentionally targeted and killed the brilliant Muggleborn's parents, and Pansy and Blaise had been aware of it. This, to him, assured their guilt. Their flight after the murder made them even more suspicious. After all, why would they run if they were innocent?

But why had the Muggles been killed in the first place? What was the motive? Perhaps it was pure revenge, the silly ideal of an arrogant family member of a former Death Eater. Or, more likely, a targeted attempt to rattle one of the heroes that conquered the Dark Lord.

Draco didn't know why he was so sure the attack had something to do with Voldemort. To him, the murder simply screamed the evil man's name. Again, he wondered if his brain was just addled from the war.

As for Hermione, she had not been punished for leaving the castle without permission. The teacher's had taken pity on her, and exempted her from homework for a few weeks time. Despite this, Draco has seen Hermione continuing to work on her assignments, though her grades were nowhere near as great as they had been before. Ron, noticing her disheveled hair and the large shadows under her eyes, had tried to convince her to lay down her quill, but she'd refused.

"My parents were proud of my grades," she told him, tears welling in her eyes. "I can't let them down now."

Ron seemed conflicted, but he left her to her work after that.

Ron had also tried asking Hermione about what had happened in Australia, but Hermione refused, saying that she'd tell him, and, in turn, Harry and Draco as well, when she was ready. The three boys easily understood this, and let her be. Still, Draco wished she would tell him, at least, for he might've been able to help. Besides, he could see how much it pained Ron to see Hermione in such distress and to be unable to help her.

Meanwhile, Harry and Draco had been avoiding each other. By common consent, they had both silently agreed that at the moment, Hermione was priority. It felt wrong to do anything together at a time like this. Besides, he was beginning to feel a bit like the fourth wheel of the group, which left him feeling bitter. However, he pushed those feelings aside and turned his mind to something else that had been plaguing him: the Blackmailer's Tool spell.

Ever since he'd discovered it being used by Pansy and Blaise, he'd been determined to master it himself. He went to The Room of Requirement, as he always did when he needed to work or simply wished to be alone, and had practiced for hours. Finally, after what had seemed to be years, he'd done it. The quill he'd been working on had risen into the air, turned over, and begun writing in Hermione's neat and cramped handwriting. Draco almost dropped his wand in shock. He'd done it! He'd actually done it!

But his elation was short-lived, however, for he now contemplated another question: How would he use this against Pansy and Blaise?

His original plan had been simple: He would use the spell to send some terrible lie to their parents, accusing them of something that was sure to get them into serious trouble. But now, in light of recent events, Draco knew Pansy and Blaise deserved much worse than a grounding; They deserved Azkaban.

The Ministry of Magic had been alerted of the murder, and they were searching for the two runaway teenagers to bring in for questioning. However, they first had to assure their guilt. And since Draco didn't have much evidence but a note without a signature and four teenagers' testimonies against them, he knew the Ministry wouldn't believe their guilt without more. Besides, the Ministry had never believed Harry Potter before, why should they now?

But there was one thing Draco could do, he realized with a viscous grin. Casting the Blackmailer's Tool spell once again, he began to write.

An hour later, two letters had been sent, heading to one destination. Draco watched the owls go through a window so graciously created by The Room of Requirement, then turned away when they were no longer visible.

He collapsed upon a couch with a grin on his face, tucking his arms under his head and staring up at the ceiling. What would happen now? And why had Hermione's parents been killed?

But his musings were soon interrupted.

It started with a popping noise coming from the corridor just outside The Room of Requirement. Draco looked at his watch; it was a quarter past midnight. He jumped. He should have returned to the Slytherin dormitories by now!

He quickly gathered his things, packing his quill, parchment, and books all in his bag, when another sound from outside stopped him, this time a hiss.

What was going on? Who was out there? He rolled his eyes at their idiocy. They would be caught by the teachers in no time. If he was going to leave, he needed to go now, lest he be trapped inside the room for the night by several teachers and one idiot.

Quietly, he stepped from the room, closing the door with hardly any noise. Turning, he was surprised to find the corridor empty. What had been making all that noise?

He strained his ears. The hall was silent. Frozen in place, he stood still, listening with all his might, when it came again: A loud hiss, not unlike the one of a snake preparing to strike, coming from a nearby broom closet.

Not just any broom closet, he realized. It was the closet, the one which held the Mirror of Erised. Eyes wide and ears straining, he crept forward, in curiosity. Was the Mirror sensing his presence? Was it calling for him?

He stepped forward to investigate. Before he could reach the door however, it opened.

A man stepped out. He was tall and burly, but that was about all Draco could discern about him, for he was wearing a long, black cloak that covered every inch of his skin. Underneath the hood, he could just see two eyes shinning in the light of the moon.

Draco was no fool. One glance at this man, and he knew the other was here for nefarious purposes. He drew his wand, and the man emulated him. But before either one could strike, two other beings stepped out from inside the closet, both looking menacing, even with the cloak hiding their faces. Then came others, three or four others who each drew a wand from the folds of their cloaks. Draco was outnumbered.

Despite the seriousness of the situation, his brain told him,_ Look, they're all coming out of the closet._

_Shut up,_ he told his brain.

He forced himself to concentrate. There were seven figures in total, all rather imposing. Despite their formidable appearance, however, Draco stood his ground, keeping his wand level with the first man. Taking a deep breath, he spoke.

"I didn't know the Mirror of Erised could transport things," he told them, his voice surprisingly level. "Might I ask how?"

The first man replied, snarling, "Magic much more difficult than you can imagine, traitor."

Something about the man's voice tugged at his memory, but Draco only smiled thinly at the insult. "Oh, I'm not so dimwitted as you might think. For instance, I'm assuming you would need a man on the inside to summon you?"

The others shifted slightly. His smile widened.

"O'course not!" the first man snapped, trying to cover for the silence of his company. Draco was unconvinced.

"Your companions seem to think otherwise."

Silence. Draco assumed the man was glaring daggers at him.

"Well, I'll admit, I'm impressed," he continued. "We've got Death Eaters in Hogwarts all over again! But this time, I'm sure it wasn't me who let you in." He cocked his head to the side. "Who was it? Goyle? Nott? Longbottom?"

"Actually," came a new voice, "it was me."

The figures shifted. From the closet, a girl stepped forward. She had pearly white skin and curly dirty-blonde hair, a bright pink shirt, and dangly earrings bigger than New York City. It was—

"Lavender—Lavender Brown?"

She smiled, though it was a bit tense. Nevertheless, she spoke in a cool, calculating voice, "That'd be me."

Draco stared. He seemed to remember Ron having a relationship with this girl back in sixth year. He was pretty sure she had not shown any evil tendencies back then. What happened?

"Lavender," he said calmly, taking a step forward. "Whatever they're promising you, it's not— "

He didn't get the change to say another word. As soon as he'd moved closer, the figures had raised their wands, growling in unison.

"One more step, boy— " the first man warned.

Draco raised his hands in surrender, taking a slow step back. "My bad," he told them sarcastically.

"Watch your tone, boy!" the man snapped. "Who d'ya think you foolin' with that calm face? We know you scared!"

It was true; under Draco's calm mask was a heart beating frantically, and a mind desperately searching for ideas. But he wasn't about to show them that.

"All I meant to say," he told Lavender, "was that their promises are about as sound as a politician's. Whatever they're telling you, I swear it will never happen. They'll just use you until they no longer have need for you, and then they'll kill you— "

"Enough!" cried the first man, though the damage was done; A flicker of uncertainty had flashed in Lavender's eyes. But before Draco could celebrate his victory, the man continued, "Stop this nonsense. Get him!"

Draco bolted.

He didn't have a plan. He knew he didn't stand a chance. So he settled for the next best thing: run, and seek help.

He hurtled down the corridor, stumbling and cursing as he went. Behind him, he heard the group's roars as they charged after him.

He cast a stunning spell back at the group, then an _Impedimenta,_ and then a _Reducto._ He couldn't tell if his curses were working, but as the number of footsteps charging after him didn't seem to lessen, he assumed he'd missed.

He barreled around a corner, risking a glance as he went, just in time to see a wand rise and a voice scream.

_Trip jinx,_ he thought.

He dove out of the way, but he was too slow. He crashed down onto his side, but he quickly scrambled to his feet and sprinted through a doorway concealed by a tapestry. Still, he'd lost valuable time.

The figures were on his heels now. With a gasp, he feigned sprinting forward and instead whipped around another corner, hoping to throw them off, but they changed direction just as fast. He risked another glance behind him to see that they were only feet away—he wasn't even near his destination—

He slammed into something solid. With a gasp, he jumped back—only to see the stern face of Minerva McGonagall looking down on him.

He suppressed a sigh of relief. The figures behind him screeched to a halt. Draco counted them: Six. So he had hit at least one of them, though where Lavender was, he had no idea.

He raised his wand, McGonagall doing the same beside him.

"Who are you?" she shouted, fire raging in her eyes. "Who sent you?"

This time, a woman replied. "Why would we tell you?"

McGonagall advanced, and, despite there being six figures and only one of her, the former shrank back in trepidation.

"You _will_ tell me," McGonagall told them, with strong conviction in her voice. The figures were frozen for a moment. Then, from the back, came a voice.

"We—we've formed a new group of Death Eaters," they said shakily, in voice so high an yet so low that Draco found it impossible to discern if it was a man or a woman. "One that will carry on the Dark Lord's great work! We will— "

"Shut up, Carl, you fool! We ought to 'ave denied you entry!" the first man snapped, and Carl fell silent.

McGonagall pursed her lips. "I demand that you leave at once!" she cried, brandishing her wand threateningly.

"Or what?" teased the woman with a laugh. Draco was suddenly reminded of his aunt Bellatrix.

The first man raised his wand. "It don't matter. Let's kill them!"

Suddenly, it clicked. Draco knew where he'd heard the voice before.

"Actually," he said, stepping forward confidently, "you won't be killing anyone, Macnair."

The first man, Macnair, froze, wand level with Draco's heart. Likewise, Draco had his wand pointed at the man's head.

"Oh, clever boy," he said in a low voice. "You've really got me. But you're not clever enough!"

Macnair cackled, while at the same time, a girly voice behind them cried, _"Reducto!"_

The floor beneath him burst into pieces. He was falling—the air whipped across his face—he must've been screaming—the stone floor hurtled towards him—

He hit the ground with a sickening crack, and everything went dark.


	14. Chapter 13-He Understood

DRACO

"Draco? Can you hear me?"

He groaned, prying his eyes open and squinting in the bright light that greeted him. Every inch of his body hurt. His tongue felt like sandpaper. His head was pounding, throbbing worse than any migraine he'd ever been unfortunate enough to receive.

Despite his various impairments, he pushed himself into sitting position, trying to get his bearings. He seemed to be laying in a soft, warm bed. Above him, four blurry figures where hovering. He thought he saw a glint of glasses. _Harry._

As soon as he moved, the figure closest to him reached out and pushed him back onto his pillows with a cry of alarm. _Ah, that must be Madam Pomfrey,_ he thought.

"Don't move quite yet, boy!" she yelped, waving her arms frantically. "I don't want to have to heal your bones again! I suppose it's something to do with being friends with Potter here. I swear, whenever one of your crowd show up, it's as though you have no value over your own personal safety— "

"Sorry," he groaned. Or he tried to, at least. It came out as more of an, "sssahrreh".

Madam Pomfrey, used to hearing jumbled words in her infirmary, nodded. "You'd better be. Now sit! And don't move!"

She bustled away.

As soon as she left, the other three figures shuffled forward carefully. Draco's vision was clearing enough to discern Hermione's bushy brown hair, as well as Ron's vivid red.

"Hullo," he told them, his tongue clumsily sounding out the word.

"Are you okay?" He could picture Hermione's worried frown as she spoke.

"M'fine," he assured her, though the incessant pounding of his head made the words sound hollow even to his own ears.

The red blob that was Ron's hair shook back and forth. "You'll have to try harder than that. You're a bloody mess."

Draco hacked out a laugh, his dry throat preventing him from doing anything more. "Water," he croaked.

Harry passed him a glass, which he downed in an instant. "More," he requested.

Harry obliged.

Several glasses of water later, Draco had improved tremendously. He finally felt as though he could talk. His eyesight was also slowly returning, and the pounding of his head had faded slightly.

He groaned, collapsing onto his pillows once more. Closing his eyes, he desperately pleaded for his head to stop spinning. He felt as though there was a great weight on it, and he reached up to try and make it stop by—batting it away, he supposed? Whatever the case, his hands made contact with a cloth of some sort, rather than the thick hair he was used to feeling. A bandage.

He let his hands fall to the bed. "How bad is it?"

Hermione responded. Suddenly, Draco realized this hospital visit was the first time she'd spoken to him since she'd returned to Hogwarts from Australia.

"Pretty bad," she told him. Her voice was slightly hoarse, but otherwise steady. She seemed to have somewhat recovered from her initial grief.

"You've got several broken bones," she continued, "though Madam Pomfrey healed them almost the minute you got here. Lasting damage is a minor concussion, and a scar on your left arm from where you were stabbed."

Draco squinted at her. "I was stabbed?"

"By the banister, yeah," said Ron. "One the corner pieces impaled you."

Sure enough, his left arm sleeve was rolled up to reveal a vicious scar cutting through his bicep to join his Dark Mark. Self-consciously, he subtly turned his arm to hide the latter, his face burning with something that felt like shame.

He cleared his throat. "And—McGonagall?"

"She's okay," said Ron, showing no indication that he saw nor cared about the Mark. "She cushioned her fall. She's feeling really guilty about not being able to cushion you, too, but she honestly would have died if she hadn't thought of herself first, so... "

Draco nodded. He didn't hold it against the older woman. "What about the figures—the Death Eaters? What did they do?" Again, he shifted his arm to be sure the Mark wasn't visible.

"They destroyed a bunch of stuff, shattered the hourglasses holding the house points, vandalized the library books, that sort of thing," said Harry. "Luckily, McGonagall was able to get the word out that they were here in time to prevent them from doing much damage against the students. But— "

"They took something, didn't they," Draco said.

Harry face was becoming clearer now. Draco could see his features, and he was surprised to see guilt there.

"It was targeted," said Hermione. Her voice was shaking. Draco snapped his gaze to her as she continued.

"They came to Gryffindor tower. We were all asleep. No one knew they were there. And—well, I don't really know— "

"They found the eighth year boys' dormitory," said Ron, his voice heavy. "I didn't hear a thing, but they approached Harry's bed." He looked for Harry to continue, who was frowning.

"Draco, do you know the legends about the Elder Wand?" he asked him.

"Yes, of course," he replied. He'd been told the story countless times. It had always been a dream of his father's, to wield the most powerful wand in existence. Draco had always found it foolish. After all, the wand is only as powerful as the wizard wielding it. Of course, he hadn't told his father that.

Besides, he had an extremely vivid memory of Harry standing before a crowd, claiming that Draco had been the owner of the very wand.

"You don't mean you weren't kidding when you said I owned it?" Draco said incredulously.

Harry nodded. "Yes. I mean, we weren't kidding."

Draco raised his eyebrows. "Well?"

"Well we have it," said Ron, causing Draco's brows to creep even higher up his forehead. "It's in Dumbledore's tomb. Or it was, anyway. Dumbledore owned it until you disarmed him, then Harry stole your wand, so he owned it. But Harry, being ridiculously selfless— " Ron rolled his eyes— "he put it in Dumbledore's tomb, instead of keeping it for himself. But the thing is, it was a bit unguarded except by the Hogwarts wards."

"We were counting on the fact that no one knew it was there," said Hermione. "Until now."

"So," Draco began, the pieces of the puzzle clicking together. "The Death Eaters go to the Gryffindor Common Room, look through Harry's mind using that Klaineau spell— "

Ron nodded. "—which only Pansy and Blaise could have told them about— "

"—which means they're involved with the group— "

"—and the new Death Eaters killed my parents." said Hermione, her voice full of pain. "Pansy and Blaise just left before suspicion could fall on them."

Ron wrapped a comforting arm around her waist.

Draco shot her a worried look before speaking again. "Meanwhile, the Death Eaters find out where the Elder Wand is using Harry's mind, and steal it. Right?"

The other three nodded, expressions showing various degrees of distress.

There was a moment of silence. Draco's mind was racing. It all made sense. But that left them to answer the next question: What were these new Death Eaters planning with it?

Before he could try and think of an answer, Harry spoke.

"I'm sorry, guys," he said, his voice heavy. "It was my fault. I should've fought them off, or something— "

"No, Harry," said Ron firmly. "It was me. I should've woken up. Besides, you admit it yourself, you're not very good at Occlumency— "

"The Klaineau spell is immune to Occlumency," said Draco. "It said so in the book. No, if anyone's at fault, it's me. I should've stopped them when I had the chance— "

"Oh, come on, that's not fair on yourself— "

"Exactly!" interrupted Hermione, glaring at them each in turn. "It's not fair! This isn't any of your guys' fault. It's not any of ours! The only ones who can be blamed for this are those new Death Eaters. So don't say it was you— "

"And Lavender Brown," Draco told her.

Ron started. "What?"

"She let them in," he told him. Quickly, he recounted the hissing noises he'd heard from the Mirror of Erised, as well as her reveal. When he'd finished, Hermione was frowning at the ceiling.

"That—makes sense, I suppose," she said thoughtfully. "I suppose if they—she wouldn't have to be Imperioused— "

"Sorry?" said Ron. "I'm not following."

"The way the Mirror works is that it shows you what you most desire, right?" Hermione told them. "So if someone's greatest desire was to bring Death Eaters into the castle, they could do that. They could create a door of some sort that would transport them here. But, in order to do that, the person summoning them would have to get inside the castle, bring in the Mirror of Erised, and then summon them when they were ready. Dumbledore did remove it, Harry," Hermione told him seriously. "It was just brought back in by the Death Eaters."

Relief spread across Harry's features for a brief moment. He nodded.

"In order to do this," Hermione continued, "the Death Eaters find someone they can manipulate, give her a reason to do their bidding, and force her to do what they want."

"But why didn't they just use Pansy or Blaise while they were here, then?" Harry asked.

"Well, because neither of them would really have wanted to bring in the Death Eaters," said Hermione. "I mean, sure, they want it, but there are probably a million other things they'd want much more than that. No, what the Death Eaters needed to do was give someone a reason to make their entrance into Hogwarts that person's _greatest desire._ Which means— "

"They're blackmailing her so horribly, she'd do anything for them," Ron finished, disgusted. "Without Imperious."

"Exactly," Hermione affirmed.

Silence fell again. Draco suddenly felt sick. What on earth could the Death Eaters be holding against Lavender to make her their slave?

"It explains why she's been acting a bit strangely recently," Hermione continued. "She's been a bit withdrawn lately. I'd been starting to wonder if she was sick."

"It's Voldemort all over again."

If Harry hadn't been standing right next to him, Draco wouldn't have heard it. As it was, his words were so quiet that both Ron and Hermione, who were across the bed from him, were oblivious to them, and Draco was sure he wasn't supposed to have heard. However, he reached out and brushed Harry's hand comfortingly with the tips of his fingers, disguising his movements with a feigned attempt to adjust his pillows.

Draco subtly glanced at the other two. He thought he saw Hermione's eyes flicker towards them momentarily, but before he could check again, Madam Pomfrey bustled out of her office, laden with several bottles of potions. Draco quickly withdrew his hand from Harry's.

"All right, scurry along," she told the other three, who collected their things without complaint, knowing it was no good to argue. "This boy needs his rest."

They left, leaving Draco to choke down several nasty flavored liquids and then drift off to sleep.

* * *

HARRY

"So, erm, Ron? Can I tell you something?"

It was breakfast the next day, and Harry had persuaded Ron and Hermione to join him on a walk around the lake. Yet only the former had assented, for Hermione had journeyed to the library. Harry had a feeling that she knew more than she let on, however, and thought that she might have a guess about what his intentions were

Indeed, he had decided to tell Ron about his whole 'I'm gay for Malfoy' thing. With the second boy still in the Hospital Wing, Harry thought that, should anything happen, at least Ron would be able to easily avoid them both for the following week.

"Sure. What is it, mate?" Ron told him, looking at him curiously.

Harry opened his mouth—and then closed it. Now that he realized he was actually about to do this, he suddenly felt very awkward.

_Well, too late now,_ he thought to himself.

"Erm—remember that 'the right question' thing Hermione was talking to us about?" he began.

"Yeah... Did you figure it out?" Ron asked, suddenly looking excited.

Harry nodded.

"Sweet!" Ron grinned widely. "Well? What is it?"

Harry took a deep breath, but found he couldn't speak. Something seemed lodged in his throat. His eyes were glued to his feet.

"Oh, come on, mate!" Ron cried. "You can't leave me hanging!"

Harry was silent.

"Mate?" Ron asked, his voice more hesitant. "What— "

Harry forced the words out. "I'm gay."

Ron's look of worry suddenly turned into one of surprise. "Oh! Uh—cool!"

"For Draco Malfoy," Harry continued.

Ron was silent for a long time. Then, sounding as though he wished for anything else to be true, he said, "You like Draco Malfoy."

Harry, still looking at his feet, squeezed his eyes shut and nodded.

There was another long silence. Then, Ron sighed.

"Alright. Fine."

Harry's eyes snapped open. He stared at Ron. "Fine?"

Ron shook his head, as though he could hardly believe what he was saying either. "Yeah. Honestly mate, I don't care if you're gay. Really. But, Malfoy—of all people—why?"

Harry's cheeks turned a bright red. "I don't know. He kissed me."

Ron closed his eyes and rubbed his temples fiercely. "He—he kissed you. Okay. You know

what? Whatever." His hands dropped to his sides and he opened his eyes, fixing Harry with a stare so fierce Harry thought he might wither under his gaze. "All I care about is—I mean—you did like my sister, right? You weren't lying to her?"

Relieved, Harry shook his head. "No. I liked her. Of course I liked her. Just—not anymore. Not like that."

Ron nodded. "Okay. Then—full steam ahead, mate."

Harry stared at him, hardly daring to believe it. "Really?"

"Yeah. I mean, I'd prefer if it was anyone but Malfoy, but—I suppose he's gotten better. I just worried about Ginny, that's all."

Harry couldn't help it. He grinned.


	15. Chapter 14-Free

DRACO

"So I told Ron," Harry said, approaching the Slytherin boy's bed in the Hospital Wing, alone.

Draco sighed. He didn't need to ask to know exactly what it was that Harry had told his best mate. "And did he take it well?" he ventured to ask.

Harry grinned. "He did, actually."

"Well that's a relief," Draco muttered, then groaned and collapsed back on his pillows.

Over the last few days, his condition had been improving as his various broken bones had healed and his constant headache had waned. But whatever potion Madam Pomfrey had given him that day was revoking all this progress, and made him feel downright miserable.

"Do you know any pain relieving spells?" Draco beseeched, his eyes shut tight against the pounding of his head.

"Yes." There was a bitter edge to Harry's tone. Draco decided not to push.

He opened one eye and looked at Harry inquiringly. "Can you—?"

"Yeah." Harry started to move forward, then stopped hesitantly. "Will it, erm—will it affect the potion in any way?" he asked.

Draco rolled his eyes. "No, Potter. Didn't you learn anything in potions? Spells can only affect potions while they're brewing or change the effects after being put to use. Which is exactly what I want. Now hurry up!"

Harry did what he was told. Raising his wand, he muttered a quick spell. Instantly, the pain faded. Draco sighed in relief. "Much better."

He opened his eyes to see Harry staring at him, green eyes boring into his gray ones. Something inside Draco bubbled up at this, but he forced in down. Still, the intensity of Harry's gaze left him without words as he stared back, frozen, heart pounding and mind blank.

After a long while, Harry spoke, his voice soft and low.

"Draco— " he began, but at that moment, the doors to the Hospital Wing opened, and Ginny Weasley hobbled in, limping and cursing.

Harry and Draco snapped their gazes away from each other, focusing instead on the newcomer. When she saw them, her face broke into a smile and she stumbled over.

_Oh dear,_ Draco thought.

"Hey Harry, Draco!" Ginny said brightly. She tilted her head amicably towards the two boys. "Glad to see you two finally getting along."

_You won't be for long,_ said his mind.

Harry, however, seemed overjoyed. "Hey Ginny! What happened?" He gestured towards her injured foot.

"Accident on the Quidditch pitch," she replied. "It's just twisted. Nothing too bad." She made an ugly face at her ankle.

"Speaking of Quidditch, how's the team going? That last defeat against Ravenclaw— " Harry shook his head morosely.

Ginny sighed. "Yeah... It's not as good without you on it, of course. But we're improving. Honestly though, with the drama going on between the players— " she sighed exasperatedly. "I sometimes want to hit Gardner and Kootes over the head with their brooms. You don't know it, but you really made the right decision not to play this year."

At that moment, Madam Pomfrey shuffled out of her office, realizing she had another patient. While Ginny was being distracted by the nurse's deploring of her so-called 'recklessness', Draco tugged on Harry's arm to get his attention.

He turned, looking at him questioningly. Purposefully, Draco looked between him and Ginny, a question in his eyes. This only seemed to confuse Harry more. Shaking his head, he turned away, to Draco's dismay. Slightly irritated and very worried, he too turned his attention back to the red-headed Weasley girl.

Madam Pomfrey had finished mending Ginny's leg. Presently, she forced her to sit in the bed beside theirs, giving she and Harry a chance to talk.

At first, Draco tried to track their conversation, but eventually he gave up. Harry and Ginny spoke of many things: Life at 'The Burrow', the Order of the Phoenix, the Chudley Cannons—in short, things Draco either didn't know or didn't care about at all. However, throughout the entire exchange, Draco was on edge, hoping against hope that Ginny wasn't smart enough to figure it out—

While the two Gryffindors talked, Madam Pomfrey fretted, forcing Ginny to drink potions, performing various healing spells, and generally worrying far too much. Harry and Ginny did their best to continue talking around the nurse's limbs.

As the discussion went on, Draco started to get impatient. Just when he was ready to chuck the redhead bodily from the room, she did the job for him.

"Well, I'd better get back to practice," she told them. Then, with a small wave farewell, she exited.

Madam Pomfrey watched her go, then turned to them. "You have five minutes," she told Harry sternly, then left for her office.

As soon as the door closed behind her, Draco turned to Harry.

"I can't believe— " he said to Harry, staring at him with wide eyes. "I mean, I never imagined— "

"What?" said Harry, looking thoroughly confused. "And what were you fidgeting about?"

He opened his mouth to respond, then frowned. "I wasn't fidgeting."

"Yeah, you were." Harry cocked his head to the side. "What's up?"

Draco gaped at him. How could he be so calm? "Harry," he told him, "you're cheating on your girlfriend!"

Almost as soon as he'd said it, he realized what it implied. His cheeks turned tomato red. Did he really consider Harry to be his—He couldn't even think of the word.

He wanted to apologize, wanted to take his words back and say that he hadn't been thinking, but, before he could, Harry laughed.

"Oh," he said between chuckles. "You thought—of course. I didn't tell you."

He looked him in the eye, amused. "Ginny and I aren't together anymore. We split almost a month ago."

"But— " Draco struggled to find words— "when she came in, you seemed so happy— "

"We haven't spoken to each other since then," Harry explained. "I was just relieved she didn't hate me."

"Oh," said Draco, feeling stupider by the minute. Of course the great Harry Potter wouldn't cheat on his girlfriend. He was too noble. Draco was a fool for thinking he would.

Harry frowned, as though a thought had occurred to him. "Hang on... You wouldn't have gone along with it, would you?"

Draco was silent.

Harry stared at him. "What? Why would you ever— "

"I wouldn't," Draco interrupted, and it was the truth. "I just— "

He broke off there, irresolute. Why _wouldn't_ he cheat? After some careful thinking, he spoke slowly, deliberating every word.

"I wouldn't," he began, "but I would wait. I would want to see how things played out. But if it went on—No, I wouldn't go along with it then."

For a moment, Harry stared at him, expressionless, and Draco worried that he'd said the wrong thing. But then Harry's face broke out into a grin.

"You are such a Slytherin," he said, shaking his head and rolling his eyes. "But okay."

Draco almost sighed aloud in relief, but, before he could say another word, Madam Pomfrey came out to shove Harry away.

"Oh, come on— " Harry protested, but she wouldn't hear it.

"Absolutely not, young man," she reprimanded. "I said five minutes, and you've had almost ten. Out!"

Harry obeyed her and left, grumbling a bit.

Draco watched him leave, then sank back into his pillows. "How much longer will I be here?" he asked Madam Pomfrey morosely.

"With enough bed rest, you'll be out by tomorrow morning," she replied.

"Oh, thank Merlin," he moaned, causing her to purse her lips with disapproval.

"No complaining, young man," she scolded. "Now take this." She held out a spoonful of potion.

Draco gulped the liquid down, and almost immediately drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

As promised, he was released from the Hospital Wing early the next morning. Since he had been fed breakfast in bed and had his first period free, he quickly headed to The Room of Requirement, which he had sort of adopted as his 'safety zone'. He found this a little strange, because, after everything that had happened in sixth year, even he thought that he would have found the place appalling. But he couldn't bring himself to hate the place, though he had no desire to enter the room where the Vanishing Cabinet had once stood. He doubted much remain after the fiendfyre, anyway.

Upon arrival to his 'safety zone', he immediately dumped his school bad (which he had previously grabbed from the Slytherin eighth years' dorm) on a nearby table and collapsed on a sofa near the crackling fire. With a sigh, he buried his head in his hands and laid there, half-asleep for almost his entire free period.

When he figured he had about ten minutes until the bell rang, he forced himself to his feet and reached for his bag—but a voice from behind made him freeze in terror.

"Don't leave just yet, boy. I have a bone to pick with you."

Ice coated his veins. Slowly, mechanically like a puppet on a string, he turned to the fire. There; amongst the flames, was him. Even with the dirty, stringy hair, gaunt face, and paler-than-usual features, there was no mistaking him.

"Father," Draco breathed.

Lucious Malfoy grinned maniacally. "Surprised to see me? I suppose they wouldn't have told you I was free, given your present loyalties— "

"I— " Draco stammered, eyes wide with what he hoped Lucius thought was only astonishment and not fear. "You're free?"

His father's grin turned malicious. "Free and thriving," he said with twisted joy.

"But— " Draco struggled to think of what to say. "But—How?"

"I had help," Lucius admitted.

"Macnair?" Draco guessed, but his father hissed in disapproval.

"Macnair doesn't have the brains to spell the word 'escape'," he snarled. "No, not him."

"Then who?" Draco asked, but he was met with only a laugh.

"Ah, boy! There was once a time when I would have told you!" said Lucius, still grinning. "But alas, as your friends Pansy and Blaise have told me the truth— "

"They're with you?" Draco asked, shocked. Somewhere in the distance of the castle, the bell rang.

"Not at the moment, no," the man replied. "But they have told me valuable things, Draco! Very valuable, indeed... "

Draco paled. So his father knew. Of course he knew. But he forced himself to stay calm and steady, even if the room seemed to be spinning around him.

"I don't regret leaving," he told his father quietly.

Lucius's grin disappeared. "But you will," he assured him.

Draco stayed silent, looking his father in the eye with what he hoped was cool indifference.

"It's not too late," Lucius told him softly, and for a moment he seemed almost fatherly, human. "You can help us. I can help you. We would have fame, riches, glory—whatever you want, you'll have it."

Draco stared at him. Hearing his fathers words, he thought of a cheering crowd, screaming his name as he walked onstage. He thought of a pile of gold beside another pile of gifts, all his. He thought of himself standing on a raised platform, almost like a mountain, lifting a golden trophy in triumph—

And then he thought of his mother, alone and drinking her sorrows away. He thought of his new friends: Hermione, Harry—even Ron. Lastly, he thought of a vision in a mirror, and a pale, unblemished arm.

And as much as it sickened him, as much as he trembled at the thought of what he was about to do, he leveled Lucius Malfoy with a cool, calculating stare devoid of fear.

"No," he said, his voice level and cold. "I'm good."

Shock flitted across Lucius's features, and he bared his teeth. "You don't know just how big of a mistake you've made, boy."

Draco lifted his chin. "I don't think I have, actually."

Lucius narrowed his eyes at his son, he expression almost bloodthirsty. Draco tried hard not to tremble.

Then, softly, Lucius snarled, "Interesting letter, by the way. Did you get my reply?"

There was a pop, and he was gone.

Draco's vision turned white. Immediately, he stumbled to the door. He threw it open—only to meet Harry's surprised look, fist raised to knock, Ron and Hermione flanking him.

"I need you," Draco chocked out, and, without warning, he grabbed a fistful of Harry's shirt and pulled him inside, slamming the door on Ron's and Hermione's stunned faces.

"Draco—?" Harry began, but he was cut off by Draco smashing his lips against his.

Harry relaxed against him, kissing him back, and for a single, blissful moment, Draco's mind was mercifully blank. But then Harry was gently pushing him away, speaking in low, hushed tones.

"Woah. Slow down," he said, grabbing Draco's shoulders and turning him so that he could see his face. His brows were creased with worry. "What happened?"

Draco felt slightly embarrassed for throwing himself onto Harry like he had. Nevertheless, he pushed his emotions aside as he recounted the tale; How his father had appeared in the fireplace, his claims of having been freed with the help of a mysterious new Death Eater, Pansy and Blaise, Lucius's offer, and finally, Draco's refusal.

With each word, Draco felt more and more sick. When he finished, he was about to vomit in a corner. But Harry's hand on his shoulder steadied him, preventing the contents of his stomach from spewing onto the floor—yet.

Harry stared at him, frowning. Quietly, he asked, "But, do you regret saying no?" He sounded hesitant.

Draco shook his head. "No. I definitely don't regret it."

Harry's frown deepened. "But then, why so—?" He gestured at Draco with his free hand.

"Upset?" Draco ventured, his anger flaring.

Harry nodded.

"Because he's my father!" Draco cried. "I thought that would've been fairly obvious— "

"Yeah, sorry," said Harry with a grimace. "That was a stupid thing to say."

Draco sighed, calming himself. "No, it—it's fine."

"Well, you did the right thing," Harry said after a pause.

"The right thing?" Draco cried, now feeling anxious. "He's my father!"

"That doesn't mean you always have to follow his path," Harry argued.

Draco scoffed. "Easy for you to say. Your family's a saint."

"Are you kidding me?" Harry cried. "No! My aunt and uncle hate me!"

Draco raised his eyebrows. "What?"

Harry gulped, seeming to deflate before Draco's eyes. "It—it doesn't matter. My point is that— "

"Harry."

"—they're not the best of people— "

_"Harry."_

"—and, I dunno— "

_"Harry!"_

Harry stopped. "What?"

Draco glared at him. "Tell me."

Harry sighed. "It's not a big deal. They locked me in the cupboard where u slept when I was younger. They forgot to feed me sometimes. They tried to 'stamp the wizard' out of me. They told everyone that I went to St. Brutus's Secure Centre for Incurably Criminal Boys when I was at Hogwarts. Things like that."

Harry shrugged, looking up at Draco, his expression worryingly nonchalant. Draco gaped at him in horror.

"They made you _sleep_ in a _cupboard_," he breathed.

Harry's brows creased in confusion. "Erm—yes."

"They made you sleep in a cupboard," he repeated.

Harry nodded. "Yeah... That's what I said, right?"

Draco shook his head fervently. "That's not—I mean—Merlin, this is why you're not in Ravenclaw."

Chuckling darkly, he reached behind himself and grabbed his bag, slinging it over his shoulder. His urge to vomit had vanished.

"I'm ready," he told Harry, heading for the door. Before he left, however, he paused, turned, and pulled Harry into another kiss.

"We're talking about this later," he muttered against his lips, "but thank you."

Then he turned and opened the doors wide, joining Ron and Hermione outside and leaving Harry, gobsmacked, behind.


	16. Chapter 15-What Threats Do

HARRY

Hermione sat him down in one of their favorite armchairs by the fire with a mischievous smile on her face. "Spill," she commanded him. Even Ron looked interested. Harry sighed in defeat.

"Lucius Malfoy has escaped from Azkaban," he told them heavily.

Hermione's eyes went wide, and Ron jumped to his feet with a cry of, "WHAT?!"

"Ron!" Hermione shushed him. Then, turning to Harry, she said, "How do you know?"

Harry explained everything Draco had to him. When he'd finished, Ron and Hermione were silent.

"Well," said Ron quietly. He paused. "But why couldn't he have told us himself?"

Hermione smirked. "Well, it's obvious, isn't it?"

Harry was very aware of the fact that his cheeks were turning bright red.

Ron screwed up his face in an effort to understand. Harry could almost see the cogs turning in his head. Finally, he shrugged as if he were saying, _I give up._

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Well, _obviously_ Draco wanted to see Harry alone, didn't he?" She waggled her eyebrows suggestively. "Am I right?"

Harry slumped in his seat, ducking his head. "Yes."

Hermione grinned. "And? What happened?"

Harry's checks turned, if possible, even redder. "Do we have to— "

"Yes," said Ron and Hermione in perfect unison.

"Really mate?" Harry turned to face Ron accusingly. "You too?"

"I live to embarrass my best mate," said Ron with an evil grin.

Harry groaned. "Fine. We—erm— "

"Kissed?" supplied Hermione helpfully.

Every sensible part of Harry's body was screaming at him to bolt up the stairs to the safety of the boys' dormitory, but he forced himself to speak.

"At first," he said jerkily. "Really suddenly. Then I pushed him away and he told me about his dad, and then we—you know—again."

"Hmmm," hummed Hermione satisfactorily, her eyes twinkling.

"Urgh," Ron groaned, his nose wrinkled in disgust.

Hermione rolled her eyes at her boyfriend. "Honestly, Ron, you're so immature."

Ron threw up his hands in surrender. "Hey, it's kinda gross! Kissing, I mean."

Hermione's eyes grew stormy. Ron, sensing danger, quickly said, "Of course, that doesn't include you, 'Mione." At Hermione's glare, he sighed. With a defeated tone, he continued, "Besides, I did it loads with Lavender in sixth year."

"Speaking of Lavender," cut in Harry, grateful for the chance to change the subject. "What do you guys think we should do to help her?"

Hermione snapped her angry eyes to him. Her expression softened. "I don't know."

"There's got to be something we can do," said Ron.

"I think we'd have to know what the Death Eaters are threatening her with first. Then we'd be able to help."

Harry nodded in agreement. "That shouldn't be too hard. Trouble always seems to find us without us trying. And where trouble goes, information follows."

Ron laughed. "He's got a point."

"So our brilliant plan is to wait," said Hermione skeptically.

"Yep," said Harry, leaning back and stretching leisurely. Ron smiled.

Just then, a figure came lumbering over to this gathering. It was Neville.

"Hey guys," Neville greeted, sounding a little downtrodden.

"Hi!" said Hermione brightly. "Here, come join us— "

She waved her wand, summoning another chair from across the room. Neville sat with a muttered, "Thank you."

Harry watched the boy as he fidgeted in his chair. He could tell Neville was still feeling guilty about being Imperioused. His slow movements, crestfallen expression, quiet words, and aversion towards meeting them in the eye told him that much. But what could he do to convince Neville that he trusted him?

"Hey, Neville," Harry said suddenly as an idea struck him. "You know Lavender Brown? Have you seen her a lot this year?"

Neville nodded. "Yeah," he replied, looking confused. "Why?"

"Well, she was working with this new group of Death Eaters."

Neville's eyes widened in shock. "Really?"

"Yeah," said Harry. "We know she's not doing it willingly, though. She's being threatened. Thing is, we don't know what she's being threatened with. Do you have any idea what it could be?"

Neville thought for a moment. Finally, he slowly said, "Well, she has been acting a bit strange the past couple of weeks. But what it could be—I have no idea. Sorry guys."

The tiny bubble of hope growing in Harry's chest burst. He leaned back and sighed in disappointment. "That's alright, Neville."

There was a short pause, broken by Neville saying, "She has been talking about Parvati a lot recently. You know, her best friend, Parvati Patil."

Hermione's head snapped up, but Ron was unconvinced. "So? Maybe she's been feeling especially lonely lately."

Neville shook his head. "No, it—it's not that. I meant every time she mentioned her it's like she was trying to tell me something. She would—would stress weird words and repeat Parvati's name unnecessarily. I don't know. Maybe it was just me— "

"No!" Hermione exclaimed, eyes wide. "No! Not at all!" She twisted in her seat to better face Harry. "Don't you see?"

Harry stared at her blankly. "What?"

"Ron?" Hermione asked, tuning again, but the boy only shook his head.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Oh, come on, use you head. _Obviously_, it's Parvati."

All three boys were now staring at her in confusion.

"Parvati!" Hermione repeated, as if the answer was hitting them all repeatedly over the head. "Really? One of you has got to know— "

"Just tell us, Hermione," Ron groaned, but Harry was starting to get an idea.

"You're saying the Death Eaters have got Parvati," Harry said slowly, "and are using her as leverage against Lavender."

Hermione beamed at him.

"But, Hermione!" Ron exclaimed. "She could've meant nothing! I dunno, I still think she was just feeling lonely."

Before Hermione could argue her case further, Harry felt a warm hand on his shoulder: it was Ginny.

"Oh, hey." He greeted her with a smile. She grinned back.

"Here," said Neville, standing and gesturing for her to take his seat. "I'm tired anyway. See you!"

He departed for the boys' dormitories, looking far happier than he had been when he'd sat down.

After he'd gone, Ginny spoke again.

"So, Harry, I've been meaning to tell you something," she said, leaning back in her newly acquired chair.

Harry felt his stomach drop. Was this something about Draco—?

"Luna and I have been thinking to start up the DA again."

Relief spread from Harry's chest to the tips of his toes. But then another weight took its place as he realized the possible implications of her words. "Ginny, I don't think I should— "

"Oh! Not you!" Ginny assured him with a smile. "No, we've agreed that Luna and I can take over as teachers, and when we're gone we can pass it on to someone else. It's just since exams are only a few months away, we figured we could offer some assistance with the spellwork."

"That's awesome, Ginny!" Harry said with honest enthusiasm, relieved that he wasn't going to be the leader. He didn't want younger students showing up only for the chance to gawk at the famous Harry Potter. Pushing those bitter thoughts aside, he asked, "Who'll you invite?"

"Anyone that wants to come," she replied. "Since we don't have to keep it secret anymore, we're posting something on the bulletin board."

"What'll you teach them?" asked a curious Hermione, leaning forward in interest.

"Oh, all sorts of things," Ginny replied. "Hexes, jinxes, curses, charms—whatever they want."

"Like a study session?"

"More practice rather than study, but yes."

Ron whistled. "Good luck," he said with a chuckle.

Ginny wrinkled her nose at her brother. "Well, I'd better get working on it. I promised Luna I'd have a poster made by tomorrow."

She, too, left for the dormitories, leaving Harry, Ron, and Hermione alone.

There was a long silence, the three each lost in their own thoughts. Hermione took out an unfinished potions essay and started scribbling away. Meanwhile, Ron muttered something under his breath.

"Sorry, what?" Harry asked him, reaching for his bag.

"I—nothing." Ron emulated him. "I just—why Malfoy?"

"Oh." Harry leaned back, bag in hand, his cheeks turning red once more. He thought. Why had he chosen Malfoy? The boy was arrogant, selfish, a bit of a prat—but still somehow endearing to him.

"Honestly?" he answered slowly. "I have no idea."

Hermione snorted. Somehow, in the amount of time it had taken Harry to think of an answer, she had written an entire paragraph.

Ron, however, didn't seem to find his answer amusing. "Just—be careful, mate," he told Harry. "I don't trust him."

Harry stayed silent.

* * *

HERMIONE

The last bit of snow that had fallen melted as the final week of March approached, bringing spring weather to replace it. As exams loomed nearer, Hermione found herself in the library, researching information for a particularly long and difficult Transfiguration essay set by the new teacher, Professor Fujii.

Selecting a few choice books from the shelf, she hurried off to find an empty seat. Eyes skimming the heads of the other students, her gaze strayed on one who sat alone, pale blond hair tinted with the leftovers of blue dye.

"Your blue hair is fading," she told Draco Malfoy as she dropped her books beside him, causing the boy to jump violently.

"Oh," he said, a hand reaching up to fiddle with the strands mindlessly. "Yeah. I suppose the ever-lasting charm is wearing off."

Hermione shifted slightly to better see what Draco was working on. "What's that?"

"Oh, erm, nothing." Draco slid the parchment that looked suspiciously like a letter out of her view. "You?"

Hermione decided not to push. "I'm just researching for Fujii's essay."

Draco nodded, shifting uncomfortably. As Hermione got to work, he simply watched her, twiddling his thumbs and trying to appear nonchalant. At last, Hermione looked up and sighed.

"Draco, who was that letter for?"

Draco jumped, startled that she had guessed exactly what it was that he'd been working on. Nevertheless, he tried denying it. "I—it's not a letter," he insisted.

"Who's it for, Draco," she repeated with a stern yet (hopefully) comforting tone.

Draco tensed, and Hermione worried for a moment that she'd pushed him too far, but then his shoulders slumped.

"It's to my mother," he muttered.

"Why? Is everything okay? Or is it about— "

She couldn't make herself finish the statement. The fact that Lucius Malfoy had escaped his imprisonment and joined a new group of Death Eaters terrified her, although she did her best to hide it. She hadn't told anyone about her constant nightmares, the flashbacks to the haunting war against Voldemort, and the thought of one of her nightmares becoming reality—well, how she'd reacted last time showed the answer to that quite plainly.

The memory of seeing her parents' bodies still haunted her, making her woozy and lightheaded whenever she thought of them. Unbidden, a picture of blood and mangled limbs flashed before her eyes, making her jerk in horror. But she quickly shoved it deep, deep down, instead trying to focus on the task at hand: Draco.

"It's about him, yeah," he said, snapping her back to the present.

She examined him carefully. If she compared his movements to how he'd acted before, Draco looked shattered, although he was doing a good job at hiding it. His expression was carefully controlled, but Hermione could see a slight twitch by his eyes and the tensed muscles of his shoulders. It was so small, so infinitesimal, that if Hermione wasn't actively looking for something wrong, she would never have noticed. And it was too good to be natural.

"Did you practice controlling your emotions?" Hermione asked cautiously, well aware that she might be crossing an invisible line. Sure enough, Draco snapped his gaze to her, a fierce fire in his eyes, and Hermione recoiled in its intensity. "S-sorry," she stuttered.

Draco's gaze softened. He sighed. "Sorry. I just—I try not to talk about the war if I don't have to."

Hermione nodded in understanding. Truth be told, she did the same thing, and so did Harry and Ron. None of them talked about the years ruled by the fear of Voldemort, and none of them wanted to.

"We do the same," she said. "Harry, Ron, and I."

"Yeah, well... I did. I mean— " he swallowed— "I learned Occlumency from Bellatrix. And I figured out how to hide my emotions as time went on."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry. I just— "

Draco elbowed her. "Shut it, Granger. Now help me with that essay."

Hermione laughed in disbelief. "Really?"

"Yes!" Draco reached for his bag, drawing out a long roll of parchment covered in neat cursive writing. "I'm still half a foot short."

She took from him his essay. Quickly skimming over the words, she set to work, wondering how much help Harry and Ron would need if Draco was struggling.

* * *

_She reached the Apparition borders of Hogwarts. Ignoring the panicked shouts of her friends behind her, she twisted, Apparating to the opposite end of the castle._

_Quickly, she stepped through the borders again, muttering a quick spell. She would need this if she wanted to go very far in her search._

_The idea had occurred to her a couple days ago. At the time, she'd felt like slapping herself for not thinking of it sooner. She'd resolved to use it as soon as the weekend came, but that date had since been erased due to certain emergencies._

_As it was, she watched as her desired object soared towards her: Ron's Deluminator._

_She felt bad about stealing it without at least telling him, but she knew that he would never let her go if she asked. Not now, after the letter._

_She deftly caught the Deluminator with one hand, then promptly stepped out of the Apparition wards, once more turning on the spot._

_She found herself in a small, deserted alley of Perth, Australia. Quickly exiting and blending in with the crowd, she tucked her cigarette lighter look-alike in her pocket. She would use it soon._

_For now, she found the nearest Wizard place: a pub named The Flaming Broom. Inside it was dark and murky, filled with what she was sure were thieves and runaways of every kind. Fingering her wand beneath her robes, she ordered a firewiskey, not to drink but to blend in with the crowd._

_With a jolt, she realized she still wore her Gryffindor emblem and colors. With a wave of her wand, she severed the Gryffindor badge from the cloth and stuffed it and her tie in her beaded bag, which she now constantly carried in her sock. Not only was it handy, but it carried all the things she deemed too valuable to carry in her regular school bag._

_She glanced around subtly, hoping no one had seen, but saw no eyes upon her. She looked back at the bartender, who'd finished preparing her drink, and hurried off to find a table in a secluded corner._

_She flopped into a chair, which creaked and groaned under her weight. Then, with a glance around to make sure nobody was watching, she reached into her pocket and took out the Deluminator._

_How did it work? She recalled Ron's explanation of how he'd found them, telling her that he'd clicked it and a ball of light had floated inside him. With a curious frown, she clicked the Deluminator._

_The few lights in the pub went out, and absolute darkness fell. There were many groans and a large amount of swearing from the surrounding costumers. With stifled yelp, she rose from her chair, clicking the Deluminator again and immediately Disapparating from the scene before the outlaws could retaliate._

_She landed on a deserted countryside. A forest was spread out to her right, and she stood in a valley of flowers that extended as far as she could see to her front, behind, and left. This was one of the first places she'd visited when she'd begun her search for her parents._

_She rolled the cigarette lighter in her hand. What was she going to do? Wait for her parents to say her name? But their memories were erased or, worse, they were—she couldn't bear to think of it._

_No, Pansy and Blaise had been lying. Her parents were alive. Setting her shoulders, she opted to search through the countless records of the people of Australia once more, in hopes to find a recently-moved Wendell and Monica Wilkins._

_A few days passed with no luck. This was not unusual, but Hermione still found herself disappointed, as well as a little panicked. If anything had happened to her parents and she was never able to find them nor know what happened to them—she'd go crazy._

_Sitting in a booth of a Muggle restaurant in Mackay, Australia, she ordered a small coffee and a sandwich. She had various papers scattered across her table, most of them records, some of them police reports. These she read with barely disguised horror, wondering what she would do if she found her parents' fake names listed amount them._

_As the server bustled away, she leaned forward, tracing a finger down the report. Thankfully, she saw no familiar names. She almost sighed aloud with relief._

_A small, unbidden part in the back of her mind told her that it was possible that her parents had been killed in the Wizarding World and therefore the Muggles would not know about it, but she forcefully shoved the thought aside. Placing the reports in her discard pile, she moved on to the next list of records, reading the lines of names. Again, she found nothing, but she simply moved onto the next list._

_This was what she'd been doing as she moved from city to city, scouring the continent of Australia as thoroughly as she could manage. With each new city, no matter how big nor small, a tiny flare of hope lit up in her chest, only to be snuffed out every time she had to discard the next paper. Still, she pushed onward. After all, she'd only been searching for a few days. She would find something soon._

_Just then, her server returned with her coffee. She sipped at it mindlessly, still concentrating entirely on her work. Turning to another paper, this one showing a large, detailed map of each and every city in Australia, she squinted at the names of the cities around her. Maybe she would head to Ooralea next—_

"—Hermione, I remember. Oh my god, you wouldn't—you can't— "

_Hermione jumped as she heard her name. Whipping around, she focused her gaze on the consumers around her, searching for the one that had spoken her name, but none of them were paying even the slightest attention to her. Frowning, she turned back to her papers, fingering her wand nervously, when she realized: the Deluminator._

_She reached into her beaded bag with a frenzy, drawing out the object and almost dropping it in her haste. Without considering the consequences, she clicked it—and a tiny ball of light emerged, floated towards her, and stopped right by her heart. She could feel its warmth as it hovered there, and she knew just what she needed to do._

_Dropping a roll of cash onto her table, she abandoned her papers and hurried from the restaurant. In the secluded alley behind it, she Disapparated, trusting the Deluminator to lead her to where she needed to go._

_She appeared in a small Muggle neighborhood. Had she looked around, she would have seen that it was a nice place, with trees scattered around and an overall clean physique. But Hermione's gaze wasn't focused anywhere but on the house before her._

_It's paint was beige and newly applied. The house had a copious amount of windows and a large garden out front, giving off an air of friendliness. But an evil stench seemed to radiate from inside the building, and it terrified Hermione._

_She approached the cutely furnished front porch, trembling from head to toe. Reaching for the front door, she tried the lock—it turned._

_She sucked in a breath. Trepidation filled her, but she pushed it aside and opened the door, silently stepping inside._

_The front hall was empty. To the left was the kitchen—also empty. To the right, a study. Before her were the stairs leading up, which she took three at a time. Pausing for a moment in front of the three doors that led off the landing, she opened the first._

_Inside was a small bathroom, surfaces thoroughly wiped clean and each personal hygiene product organized. If Hermione hadn't been so terrified, she would have smiled nostalgically, remembering all the days of strict dental work in her childhood._

_She stepped out and closed the door._

_The next opened into a storage room, meticulously organized like no storage room should be. Again, she closed the door._

_There was only one room left. Stepping forward, she turned the knob—and screamed._

_It was a bedroom. A bedroom with a large bed, a large window, and a beautiful wallpaper depicting a lovely woodland forest covering the walls. A bedroom meant for a couple._

_A bedroom covered in blood._

_The bed was stained. The walls were dripping with the stuff. And the curtains were covering the window, blocking the light and making everything seem much more sinister. But the worst part was what lay in the middle of the room, covered in the most blood of all._

_Hermione fell to her knees beside the bloody bodies of her parents, so badly mangled that they were almost unrecognizable. Their arms and legs were twisted in unnatural positions. Every inch of skin had been brutally slashed by what seemed to be a wicked blade. And bruises peppered their bodies, colored purple and green._

_Hermione screamed. She screamed and screamed until her voice grew hoarse and her lungs craved air. But she didn't care. Her parents were taking their final breaths. She lay a trembling hand on her mother's shoulder._

"_H-Hermione?"_

_Then, with one last shudder, Mr. and Mrs. Granger slumped, their muscles relaxing and their eyes seeing no more._

* * *

Hermione jerked her eyes open to see the light of the fire, the scratching of Harry's and Ron's quills a distant noise compared to the sound of her parents' final ragged breaths.

"Harry, Ron," she said, her voice feeble. "It's time I tell you want happened in Australia."


	17. Chapter 16-Viewing the Many Minds

HARRY

In The Room of Requirement, Harry mindlessly sucked on his quill, a bad habit he'd acquired after the end of the war. Try as he might, he couldn't seem to be able to complete Professor Fujii's essay. After an hour of work and barely writing an inch, his brain was starting to hurt. So instead he focused on his companion: Draco Malfoy, who didn't look as nearly as perturbed as he was. In fact, he was gazing into space, fiddling with a small locket with a thoughtful expression.

"You never told me what was so special about that locket," Harry said, unable to keep the curiosity out of his tone.

Draco tensed, his fingers stilling on the object. Looking up at Harry, he said, "What d'you mean?"

"The locket," Harry replied, motioning to it. "It's the same one you made such a fuss about when we went to get your things from your Slytherin dormitory."

"Oh." Draco shifted uncomfortably, and Harry realized he hadn't meant for him to see it. "It—erm— "

"It's okay," Harry said, backtracking quickly. "You don't have to tell me."

Draco sighed, though his lips turned slightly upward. "Between you and Hermione, I'm never going to have any privacy."

"What?"

"Nothing." Draco looked at him. "It was my mother's."

He drew his wand, tapping the locket with a muttered, "_Puraperio_." It snapped open, revealing a small, flawless emerald.

"It belonged to a friend of her's," Draco explained. "She ended up dying herself, but my mum always treasured it. Apparently it was a family heirloom of her friend's and had magical properties. Whether that's true— " Draco shrugged. "A lot of pure blood families try to make themselves seem more important than they really are. I wouldn't be surprised if it was rumor.

"But, for whatever reason, my mum always kept it. When the war came—well, Bellatrix stole it from her, but I suppose she didn't get what she wanted from it, because she gave it to me before sixth year." He gulped. "She said that it would help me kill Dumbledore. I've kept it because—because it reminds me of my mum, I guess."

Draco finished with another shrug, though he didn't quite meet Harry's eyes. Harry, realizing what that meant, sighed.

"No," he said. "You kept it because you hoped that the magical powers weren't rumor."

Draco opened his mouth to say something in his defense, but Harry cut him off.

"I'm not a complete idiot, Malfoy."

Draco closed his mouth, his skin paling slightly. "I— "

"Just admit it."

"I—it wasn't—I mean— " Draco looked down— "Yes."

Harry sighed. With a snap, he closed the Transfiguration book he'd been using as a reference, then proceeded to roll up Fujii's essay. He had no chance of completing it without Hermione's assistance. Somehow, he'd have to convince her to help him.

He looked at Draco, who was determinedly appearing to concentrate on his work, though his gray eyes weren't moving. Harry placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Can I see it?" he asked, holding out an empty hand.

Draco glanced at him, then at his hand, and sighed. He passed the locket over.

Harry examined it. It was small and heavy, and Harry had a sudden flash of memory: another locket, similar in weight, though much more sinister, with an ornate Slytherin 'S' decorating its surface. Suddenly, the locket he held in his hand was the Horcrux he'd destroyed months ago.

Harry dropped the locket with a gasp, his heart beating wildly.

"Harry?"

His breaths were coming out in short, quick gasps, but he closed his eyes and forced himself to calm down. When his breathing was no longer labored and he felt as though he could speak, he said, "I—I'm fine. It's nothing."

Draco didn't look convinced, but he picked up the locket from where it was on the floor and held it out to him.

"Harry," Draco said, but Harry snatched the locket from his grasp.

"I'm fine," he repeated, trying to convince himself as much as he was Draco.

Draco met his eyes. The two boys stared each other down, Draco's eyes worried and Harry's determined. Finally, Draco looked away, relenting.

Harry turned his focus onto the locket. Now that he was looking at it, really looking at it and not having flashbacks of the war, he saw that it was very different from Voldemort's Horcrux locket. While still heavy for its size, it was small, round, and gold. On it was engraved a million intricate designs of a forest, vines lacing up and around the metal. Small animals were carved there, too, and Harry thought he could see a fairy or two. All in all, it was a peaceful sight, one he couldn't imagine belonging to someone as cold and proud as Narcissa Malfoy.

In Harry's sudden panic, the locket had been closed, and Harry drew his wand to open it again. "_Puraperio_," he muttered, just as Draco had done—but nothing happened.

"Oh," Draco said, taking it back from him and repeating the charm. This time, the locket opened with snap. "You have to be pureblood to open it," said Draco apologetically, handing it back to him.

"Of course." Harry rolled his eyes. "I should have known."

He examined it again. The inside was carpeted with a red velvet, in which a small, but perfect, emerald lay. It didn't appear to have been cut or polished in any way, but it was so vibrant and so smooth that there was no need. It was, in Harry's opinion, much more stunning in this natural state than it would ever be if it were cut.

"How much did this thing cost?" Harry asked Draco, picking it up and rolling it between his thumb and forefinger, admiring the way it caught the light.

"Not that much, I suppose," Draco replied, frowning in thought. "Emeralds are more valuable to Wizards than Muggles, particularly for its tie to Slytherin. Still, most Wizards don't want raw stones like that. Maybe a few thousand galleons."

Harry snorted. "A few thousand, you say. Meanwhile, us peasants are living in absolute squalor— "

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Draco snapped. "But I don't think the vendor appreciated it's worth."

Harry turned to look at Draco. "Hm?"

"Well, it's much more valuable because it's raw, for one thing," Draco began. "A flawless emerald like that—you don't find that often. It was actually bigger when it was first bought, too. This is just a fragment of a much larger piece, which we don't have."

Harry nodded, observing the small emerald once more. If he looked carefully, he could just barely see it: a thin scratch—almost invisible to the naked eye—showing where the piece was cut from its larger brethren.

"Huh," was all he said as he passed the emerald back to Draco, who took it and encased it in the locket once more.

* * *

DRACO

_Mum,_

_Father's escaped from Azkaban. I don't know what he plans to do, but I need you to be careful. There's a new group of Death Eaters out there. I don't know what they plan to do, but they're dangerous. Macnair is part of their ranks, as well as Pansy and Blaise, and who knows how many others._

_Also, do you remember the legend of the Deathstick? It's true. The Death Eaters have it. They stole it from Hogwarts a few days ago._

_If father comes to the Manor, jinx first, ask questions later. Remember that he stands for Voldemort._

_Stay sharp,  
__Draco_

* * *

HERMIONE

"I'm not helping you, Harry."

Harry groaned when she said it, ten fingers tugging at his hair in desperation. "But Hermione!"

"I'm sorry," she replied, feeling only slightly so. "But you need to learn it yourself. Professor Fujii is just— "

"Hermione," Harry began, leaning forward urgently. She rolled her eyes. She knew where this was going.

"Hermione," he repeated, "please. You wouldn't be finishing my work for me. You'd be helping me learn it so that I can finish it! Please, it's due tomorrow, and I'm nowhere near done— "

Hermione sighed, feeling slightly guilty. She supposed if she only helped him learn like she'd done with Draco... there couldn't be much harm to that, could there? And maybe...

An idea started forming inside her head.

"All right." Looking her friend directly in the eye, she said, "But you'll have to ask Draco first."

Harry raised his brow. "But you're the one— "

"I taught Draco everything that I will teach you," she interrupted smoothly. "Talk to him. Then I'll help."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Fine. It's not much of a punishment, anyway. If that's what you were going for."

Hermione smiled. "I'll be sure to keep that in mind for next time."

Harry narrowed his eyes at her, but he didn't question her. Instead, he stood, gathered his things, and clambered through the portrait hole and out of sight.

Hermione sighed, closing her Arithmancy book. Vaguely, she wondered if Harry had the brains to realize her subtle nudges to see Draco more often. She doubted it. Harry may have defeated the most dark Wizard of all time, but he was hopelessly oblivious.

She grinned. Merlin, her two best friends were idiots. Ron was inconceivably dimwitted at times, and Harry was a far cry from being a Ravenclaw. If she decided to count Draco—well, the war had proved that the boy could be immensely cowardly.

She stood from her chair with a yawn, glancing around the Common Room. Where was Ron? She searched her mind for an answer. Quidditch Pitch, she recalled. He'd told her at dinner.

She frowned. If that was the case, then why hadn't he invited Harry? The two of them still flew regularly, even if they weren't on the team. So why not now?

She shook her head, collecting her things in her bag just as another yawn overcame her. She'd think more of it in the morning.

The stairs to the girls' dormitory seemed to be the longest flight she'd climbed in her life. Finally dumping her school bag beside her bed, she quickly changed into her nightclothes. Then, stiffening another yawn, she clambered into bed and snuggled underneath the soft, warm sheets, thinking.

Ron... What could he be up to? Could he be meeting with... another girl? Hermione almost laughed out loud. Of course he wasn't. She'd known Ron for seven years. He would never do something like that.

But still... what if he was? She squeezed her eyes shut, as if trying to physically push the thought out of her head. If he did—she wouldn't know what to do. No amount of research would be able to prepare her for something like that. This made her afraid.

She let out a breath she hadn't known she'd been holding. Of course, none of her worries mattered. Ron wasn't cheating. She knew that in her heart.

So then what _was_ he doing?

She looked at the clock on her nightstand; it was nearing ten. Stretching, her gaze wandered over the other empty dormitory beds. Now that Lavender was gone, she was the only eighth-year girl left. Something about that made her feel slightly empty inside.

Her gaze settled on the ceiling, and she began tracing the cracks in it with her eyes, her mind wandering to a much more sinister topic.

What did the Death Eaters plan to do? Bring back Voldemort's regime? Worse, bring back the man himself? Despite the impossibility of it, Hermione shivered. She couldn't imagine the Wizard coming back to life. It would be all her nightmares coming true. But perhaps that was why they took the Elder Wand... Maybe they thought its power could extend to necromancy! Hermione gulped.

_No, no, no,_ she told herself. _That's not what it means. Voldemort's dead, and he'll stay that way._

Slowly, her heartbeat slowed and her breathing calmed. Satisfied that she had her wits about her once more, she cast her mind around, forcing herself to think with logic.

There had been nothing reported in _The Daily Prophet._ No strange disappearances or an increase of murder—everything was the same as it had always been in the Wizarding World. So what could the Death Eaters be doing? Bidding their time? Or maybe she was concentrating on the wrong thing—

A thought struck her with such force that she sat bolt upright in shock, despite her exhaustion. No—it couldn't be—she was wrong. She had to be wrong. But if she was right—

It would explain why there was nothing in _Prophet_, for one.

But how could she be sure? She would have to check—would have to see it with her own two eyes. And she'd left the castle before, hadn't she? She could do it again.

She suddenly felt wide awake. Jumping to her feet, she grabbed her beaded bag and a change of clothes, plus her wand, a quill, and some parchment.

She glanced only once around the room before closing the door behind her.

* * *

HARRY

"And to think you came for help on Fujii's essay."

"Can you still— "

"Yes. Fine. But this is much better."

If Harry's eyes had been open, he would have rolled them. Instead, he settled for a sharp nip on Draco's lip.

"Ow," he muttered, withdrawing slightly. Then he smirked, leaning forward.

Harry sighed with contentment, reaching up to twine his fingers in Draco's shirt. Merlin, if Hermione knew what he was up to instead of spending precious time studying—the thought almost made Harry chuckle aloud.

Draco shifted, causing Harry to take a few steps back. He deepened the kiss, twining pale fingers in Harry's jet-black hair, and both parties sank into complete bliss, reveling in the feeling—

There was a click and a groan of a door grinding on dull hinges. With a gasp, Harry and Draco sprang apart—but not before light had spilled into the small room, illuminating every corner.

A tall, gangly fifth-year stood in the open doorway, eyes wide and mouth agape in shock.

"Shit," Draco muttered.

"I—er—I was just— " The boy stared at them, eyes shooting back-and-forth between the two rapidly. "I'll—I'll just go."

Then, cheeks ablaze, he ran from the scene.

* * *

DRACO

_Draco,_

_Don't worry about me. I can handle myself. But you must be careful._

_Your mother,  
__Narcissa Malfoy_

* * *

RON

The night was cold and clear, and the wind was light; perfect for flying. But Ron didn't carry a broomstick as he walked out into the courtyard. In fact, he didn't carry anything but a Deluminator hidden in his pocket and a wand up his sleeve, which he fingered nervously.

Every inch of him was filled with trepidation over what he was about to do. He gulped and took a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves. _I'm absolutely mental,_ he told himself, for the tenth time. _Absolutely mental. Why am I even here?_

He was approaching Hagrid's hut, trying to keep an air of innocence, but then suddenly changed direction, heading for a far sinister destination: the Forbidden Forest.

The darkness of the night thickened as he passed the tree line. As soon as he did, his senses were on high alert, eyes darting around as he took in the trees and thoroughly examined each shadow, watching for any hint of movement. A snap of a twig had him hurtling around, but it was only some small, four-legged animal that quickly scurried out of sight.

He turned away, letting out a slow breath. Fingering his wand once more, he walked on.

The trees opened up to a small clearing. There, on the far end and shrouded in shadows, was a boy, his skin dark and eyes glittering in the light of the moon.

"Weasley," the boy greeted with a slight jerk of the head.

Ron lifted his head in what he hoped to be a challenging look. "Zabini. What do you want?"


	18. Chapter 17-Muggles, Troubles, Couples

HARRY

"Where's Hermione?"

Harry and Ron looked up and down the Gryffindor table at breakfast the next morning, searching for their bushy-haired friend. But even though Harry scoured the place thoroughly, he found nothing. "Maybe she's in the library," he suggested, shrugging.

Ron laughed. "Typical Hermione."

Harry grinned in return, reaching for some eggs. Meanwhile, the daily post arrived. He glanced up nervously, thinking of more threats from Pansy and Blaise, but no owls fluttered towards them, and none approached Draco, either. He sighed in relief.

Ron, apparently, had none of these misgivings, and he was stuffing his mouth full of porridge. Harry smirked at him before picking up a quill; he was working on his Potions homework last-minute before it was due in class that day.

"Great Quidditch conditions yesterday," he commented airily as he turned a page of his book, _Potions: A Guide to Masterful Brewing Strategy._

For some reason, Ron tensed beside him. "Er... yeah. There were."

Harry furrowed his brow. Why would Ron do that? "We should've gone out and played," he said probingly. "It would've been fun."

Ron shifted guiltily in his seat.

Now sure that something was off, Harry cocked his head to the side. "Something wrong, mate?"

Ron gulped, then sighed. "Look, mate, I—Yesterday, I went to the Forbidden Forest and— "

Before he could finish, however, a large pile of newspapers slammed down onto the table beside him, causing both boys to jump violently. Ron knocked over his Pumpkin Juice.

"Hermione!" Harry yelped, trying to calm his beating heart. "What— "

"Muggles," she growled, her eyes aflame. "They're going after the Muggles!"

"What?" said a bewildered Ron.

"The Death Eaters!" she cried, wringing her hands. "All this time, we figured they'd do something in the Wizarding World, when really they were attacking the Muggles!"

Harry, recovering his wits, placed a hand upon her shoulder in a calming gesture. "Okay, Hermione, start from the beginning. How do you know this?"

She let out a puff of air and gestured to the newspapers. "Read them."

With some trepidation, they leaned forward, each selecting their own article from the mountainous pile, and read.

The first article was about the mysterious death of a well-known Muggle named Jerry Schruter, who dropped dead for no apparent reason in his home. The second was of the mysterious murders of a happily-wed couple. The criminals had inflicted only non-life-threatening wounds to the woman's temple and the man's arm, and there was no trace of poison in the blood. In fact, if there had been no signs of struggle, the doctors would have put their deaths down as heart attacks. Another, a strange robbery had occurred where there had been almost fifty eyewitness—ten of which were on-duty police officers—yet none of them made a move to stop the robbers as they waltzed in and out of the building. Afterwards, some witnesses swore that the thieves were armed only with small, thin sticks.

The last one he read was about the brutal murders of Wendall and Monica Wilkins, who were killed in their home, the doors locked on the inside.

Harry had seen enough. He set down the paper he was holding just as Ron did the same beside him. There was a silence between the three, broken only by their own troubled thoughts, the sounds around them seeming to dim. At long last, Hermione spoke, and the clatter of silverware and the chattering of students returned to its full blast.

"We need to tell Professor McGonagall," she said anxiously. "She may be able to help."

Harry opened his mouth to contradict her, but quickly stopped himself, McGonagall's words coming back to him: _The war is over, Potter. You-Know-Who is gone._

She was right. He still held on to it, the constant adrenaline and fear caused by the thought of Voldemort out there, somewhere, waiting for the right time to pounce. He still felt as though he were about to be killed at any moment, still thought that he had a target on his back. But, like McGonagall said, the war was over. He no longer had anything to fear.

"Let's go," he said.

Set on their new task, they stood, glancing at the staff table. Seeing as their target was absent, they headed from the Great Hall to the Headmistress's office. But in the corridor outside, Harry spotted someone he was not yet ready to see: the fifth-year boy that had run in on him and Draco snogging.

Upon sighting him, the boy stumbled to a halt, looking just as unwelcome to see Harry as Harry was to see him.

_Go away,_ Harry begged him silently. _Turn around, go away._

Unfortunately, the boy steeled himself and approached the trio, walking with determined strides. Harry's stomach dropped.

Ron, having caught sight of him coming towards them, screwed up his face in confusion. "Who's he? Why is he coming over?"

Harry sighed. "Well—er— "

Hermione looked at him curiously.

Before anyone could say anything else, the boy had come within earshot, saving him from having to answer Ron's and Hermione's questioning gazes.

"Hey," the boy said, shifting his weight awkwardly.

Harry nodded to him in acknowledgment, nerves twisting in his gut.

"What do you want?" Ron blurted out, causing Hermione to smack him on the arm.

"I'm sorry," she told the boy, shooting Ron a glare. "He doesn't mean it— "

"No, it—it's fine." He sighed heavily, lifting his head to look at Harry. "I just wanted to see that I'm sorry about—you know. I didn't mean to, and I just— "

"It's fine," Harry told him, relief spreading through his veins. Part of him had been worried he would be a jerk about it to him, like Pansy and Blaise had been to Draco.

The boy smiled hesitantly at him. "I'm Erin, by the way. Erin Wallace."

"I'm sorry," Ron cut in, "but how do you two know each other again?"

"Er— " Harry glanced at the crowd surrounding them. "I'll tell you later."

Hermione raised her brows, but she nodded. "Come on, Ron. Let's go to McGo—I mean, to the Common Room."

And with that, she tugged a highly bewildered Ron up the stairs and out of sight, leaving Harry and Erin alone.

Soon, a thought dawned on Harry. "You haven't—I mean—you haven't said anything, right?"

Erin shook his head. "I haven't told anyone, no. And I won't, don't worry."

Again, warm relief spread from the top of his head to the tip of his toes. "Oh—good."

A few moments passed in awkward silence, broken only by some curious glances sent Harry's way. Erin, noticing them, smiled.

"Still the Boy Who Lived," he said. Then, as an afterthought, "Twice."

Harry gave the crowd a dark look. "I hate it."

Erin raised his brows. "Really?"

"How would you like everyone watching you everywhere you go? Why do you think I want it to be kept secret?"

"Oh," said Erin, stumbling back. "Sorry, I didn't mean to be— "

"No, it— " Harry let loose a breath. "It's fine."

The two boys exchanged small smiles, Harry's apologetic and Erin's grateful. Again, they lapsed into silence, this time slightly more comfortable. Slightly.

But before either boy could say anything to break the spell of awkwardness a voice from above cried, "Harry!"

He turned. Ginny was racing towards him, her flaming-red hair flowing behind her, followed by Luna, who was trailing her loosely.

"Harry," Ginny repeated, skidding to a stop. Panting, she nervously cast a glance at the steady stream of students filling in and out of the Great Hall, then at Erin.

"I have to tell you something," she told Harry, looking at him pointedly.

"Er—sorry, Erin. I've got to go... "

Flummoxed, he followed Ginny out of the crowded corridor, up a flight of stairs, and to an empty broom closet, Luna keeping up a few steps after them. As soon as the door was closed behind them, Ginny whirled to face him.

"I need to tell you something," she said, an urgency in her tone. Meanwhile, Luna examined the cluttered shelves of buckets, brooms, and other miscellaneous cleaning supplies thoughtfully.

Harry raised his brows. "What?"

Ginny gulped. "I—I know I don't know everything, but—I need to tell you. Last night, Ron— " She took a deep breath. "He met with Zabini."

He stared at her. "Zabini... Blaise Zabini?"

"Yes!"

He could hardly dare to believe it. "So... what're you saying? You're saying it—he's— "

"He's not a Death Eater, if that's what you mean," she assured him.

"Of course he's not!" he cried. "I know that! That's what I mean, Ginny." He took a step forward. "If he's not a Death Eater, then what are you getting at? Why is he meeting with Zabini?"

"I don't know," she said, shaking her head. "Imperious? Whatever it is, it's not like Ron."

Harry let out a sharp puff of air. "How do you even know this?"

"Luna and I were out visiting Hagrid," she replied. "We were helping him with some wild harpies. Then, when we left, we passed by the Forbidden Forest and we heard rustling. We thought it might be another harpy, so we followed. Well, turns out it's Ron, meeting with _Blaise Zabini"_—She spat as though the name was poison on her tongue— "of all people, and—I don't know, Luna and I just hid. We couldn't hear or see much. But I got a glance, and that was all I needed."

Harry closed his eyes. Why was Ron meeting with Blaise? Was he under the Imperious Curse? The Death Eaters could have done it easily when they raided the castle, he realized. But why? Why put Ron under the spell? Why have him meet with Blaise and not someone else?

"If it's any consolation to you, Harry," Luna said serenely, interrupting his musings, "I'll bet Ron was trying to be nice."

Harry gaped at her. "Nice? To Blaise?"

On his right, Ginny stared at Luna like she was insane, too. But Luna nodded, dropping her hand to her side from where it had been exploring the buckets. "Yes, I do think so. From what I could tell, I think Ron was rather guarded with Blaise. Blaise seemed desperate." She gave Harry a smile. "He was trying to convince Ron of something."

He raised his brows. "Convince him of what?"

"Oh, I don't know," she replied, her attention now partially diverted towards the ceiling as she examined it. "You'll have to ask him. He's feeling guilty."

His brows crept higher. "He is?"

"Oh, yes," she said with a vigorous nod, looking back down at him. "Didn't you see him at the breakfast table this morning?"

He and Ginny exchanged a glance. "Luna," said Ginny, eyes bright and dancing, "you are beyond the most observant person I've ever had the fortune to meet."

Luna gave her a warm smile. "Thank you."

Her attention returned to the shelves, but Ginny continued to watch her, a strange emotion burning in her eyes. Harry furrowed his brow, trying to discern what it could be. Was it... admiration? Jealousy? Pride?

Before he could think of it any longer, Ginny turned to him, and he snapped back to the present.

"Go ask Ron," she told him, her voice commanding.

He nodded. "And you? What will you do?"

"Well, I'll wait for you to give me information, of course."

He narrowed his eyes. "Oh, really?"

Ginny gave him a lazy smile. "Yes, I think so."

He laughed, and she shoved his shoulder playfully. "Go," she said, chuckling.

He did, leaving she and Luna behind, the latter still examining the shelves absently.

* * *

DRACO

_Mum,_

_I'm coming to see you this Easter holiday, whether you want me to or not. Don't meet me at Kings Cross, I'll just Apparate home._

_Your son,  
__Draco_

* * *

"Hey, Draco!"

He turned to see Harry tripping his way towards him, wrestling against the crowd in the corridor. Quickly rightening himself, cheeks tinged a slight crimson, he carried on. Draco watched on with barely disguised amusement.

When he finally broke free from the never-ending tide of students, Draco gave him a lazy smirk, opening his mouth to make a witty comment, but Harry raised a warning finger.

"Don't you dare," he told him, glaring.

He closed his mouth, though his smirk widened. Harry narrowed his eyes before sighing heavily.

"All right," he said, his expression exasperated. "Well, I just thought you might like to know that I talked to Erin. He's not going to tell anyone."

Draco gave him a blank stare. "Who?"

"Oh. Right." Harry's cheeks turned a deeper shade of red. "Erin Wallace, the bloke that, er—you know—saw us."

"Ah." He nodded, aware that his cheeks were now flushing red, too. "Him."

"Yeah."

The two boys lapsed into silence, casting nervous glances about them to be sure that no one overheard. But as there was no slowing of the students around them and no ears turned their way, Draco determined that they were safe.

_For now,_ came a voice in the back of his head.

_Shut up,_ he told it angrily, but he knew it to be true. There was only so long you could hide a secret romance from the prying eyes of the Wizarding World.

He snapped his attention back to Harry, glancing at his watch, then looking at him inquiringly. Harry tilted his head questioningly.

"We have potions?" he ventured at Harry's blank look.

"Right," Harry said, looking down and fiddling with his tie. "Damn, I haven't finished the essay— " He dropped it, leaving it untucked and twisted at the end. "Slughorn'll be cross. We'd better go— "

He turned away, but Draco reached out instinctively, grabbing him by the arm and smoothing out the red and gold fabric, tucking it back beneath his shirt. Harry stared at him, and continued to do so even after Draco had finished, his mouth opening and closing, at loss for what to say.

Draco gave him another smirk. "Remember, Harry, you're not a fish."

He closed his mouth with a snap, glaring at him once more. "I didn't—I wasn't— "

"Yeah, right." Draco tugged at his sleeve impatiently. "Potions."

Harry gulped, nodding. "I have to tell you something— "

_"Harry."_

"Yes. Potions."

Together, the two boys made their way to Slughorn's classroom.

* * *

Hours later, Draco tore down the corridor to Charms. Arriving at the door, he paused, trying to adjust his robes into a more dignified state. Then, satisfied, he entered, a solid ten minutes after the bell.

"Mister Malfoy," said Professor Flitwick, peering at him severely from upon his stack of books. "You're late."

"I noti— " Draco caught himself. "I mean, I'm sorry, Professor."

He avoided Flitwick's eyes, which were searching him intently. Finally, the tiny Wizard's wheezy voice said, "Well, find a seat."

He nodded, quickly dropping his bags and sitting where Harry, Ron, and Hermione were. Then, ignoring their curious looks, he faced the front, pretending to absorb Flitwick's every word while he actually let his mind wander.

He'd been in the library, but due to his abhorrent night's sleep the night before, had dozed off while working on an Arithmancy essay. He slept through the bell like a baby, and only woke when Madam Pince prodded him sharply between the shoulder blades, severely cross. He'd fled from the scene before she could do anything but glare, as any sensible person would do. Madam Pince was known for charming students' belongings into hitting them upside the head and following them out the library. Sometimes students' ink bottles smashed in the chaos. He shuddered at thought of that mess.

He snapped out his stupor when he realized everyone was moving towards the class's broom closet. Feeling slightly stupid, he jogged to catch up, tapping on Harry's shoulder to get his attention.

"What are we doing?" he asked in an undertone.

Harry grinned. Wordlessly, he reached into the closet, withdrawing with two brooms in his hands. "We're charming them to fly," he answered, his eyes holding a glint of excitement.

"Oh." Draco took one.

If he was honest, he could hardly care less about the lesson. The only thing that was bouncing around his skull was a yawn.

Together, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Draco worked on the charm that would allow the broom to listen to the commands of the Witch or Wizard who rode it. It was tricky, and the result was that, in the last few minutes of class, Hermione was the only one who succeeded in casting it. No one was surprised.

As the class moved to place their brooms back in storage, Harry drew Draco aside, allowing Ron and Hermione to pass.

"What?" Draco asked him, raising his brows.

Harry quickly glanced around the room to check for eavesdroppers. Satisfied that there were none, he spoke to Draco in low, hushed tones:

"Ron met with Blaise Zabini a few nights ago."

"What?!"

"Meet me after class, second floor corridor."

And he was gone with a whirl of his robes.

Draco stared at the place where he'd been, his mind spinning uncontrollably, suddenly feeling wide awake. Ron had met with Blaise? How could he? And why?

It had never taken him less time to reach his destination anywhere in the castle, and he arrived to see Harry already there, alone, his back stiff and muscles tense.

"Explain," Draco demanded.

"Ginny and Luna saw him in the forest. Luna thinks Zabini might've been trying to convince Ron of something, and that Ron's now feeling guilty." Harry sighed, looking down at his feet. "I'm don't know what to believe."

Draco rubbed his tired eyes, trying to get his brain to focus. "Convince Ron? Convince Ron of what?"

"I have no idea."

"Have you asked him?"

"I get the feeling he would be hesitant answer me."

"Well then, inject him with Veritaserum or something," Draco suggested seriously.

Harry laughed. "Yeah, and then I'll bind him up in the Room of Requirement and torture him." He looked up to see Draco's unamused expression. "Wait... you're not serious?"

Draco furrowed his brow. "Well, don't do what you said, but the potion... why wouldn't I be?"

Harry's jaw dropped in horror. "He's my friend, Draco! I'm not going to inject him with an illegal truth serum just because he won't tell me something he's ashamed he did!"

"It's a means to an end, Harry," Draco said, trying to stay calm, but his blood was boiling at Harry's tone. "That's all."

"That's all?!" Harry cried out in shock. "I can't invade him like that, Malfoy— "

"Malfoy, again?" His nostrils flared. "Well, _Potter_, I don't need you to tell me what's right and what's wrong— "

"When you spew nonsense like that, you do," he retorted. "And as for your name... at least I'm proud to be a Potter. Your family will always be a load of Death Eaters."

Draco stumbled back, his mind blank with white-hot rage. Then, with a growl, he pushed past Harry and stalked out of sight.

He didn't look back.


	19. Chapter 18-Wrathful Men

DRACO

The day was cool and stormy as Draco stepped onto the Hogwarts Express, returning to the Malfoy Manor for the Easter holidays. In an empty compartment, he found himself staring out the rain-streaked window. Outside there was a flash of lightning, followed by a crash of thunder. He sighed.

The ride home was lonely and uneventful. In the current situation, the old Draco would have been desperate for companions. Now, Draco was content to simply immerse himself in his own thoughts, which mainly consisted of his rage at Harry Potter.

When the train pulled into King's Cross, he made no hurry to leave. His mother wasn't even there, why should he be running to get home?

The line through the solid archway and into the Muggle world was a long one. But Draco spent the time lost in his own thoughts, and the minutes flew by. Finally, he walked through what appeared to be solid brick and emerged into the overcrowded Muggle station.

Leisurely, he exited the building, his legs headed to a specific destination without him even thinking about it. They led him to a back street, in which he vaguely registered to be a family, each member poorly dressed in Muggle attire. He ignored them, however, and snapped himself out of his stupor just long enough to glance behind him for prying Muggle eyes. Once he was sure he was properly hidden, he gripped his feather-light trunk tightly and mustered enough concentration to Apparate; he vanished and reappeared before the tall, wrought gates leading to the Manor.

The Manor itself was as grand as it always was, but Draco still felt a twinge of fear he was so used to getting when he saw it. In the year before he'd Apparate to this same location, would peer through the same gates, but there would be a much more sinister force within its walls. Perhaps he would be beat, tortured, or killed inside. It would have all depended on Voldemort to decide what he would do to Draco in his own home.

But then, while it still was still 'home', the word had lost all meaning due to Voldemort and the heinous crimes he'd committed in it. This manor was no more his home than Azkaban was to his father. But Voldemort was gone now. Draco shook off his fright and approached the main entrance.

Once inside, he dropped his trunk on the floor with a loud clang. He heard scurrying on the floor above; seconds later, Narcissa Malfoy appeared at the top of the stairs.

"Draco!" she cried, sounding genuinely surprised to see him. "What are you doing here?"

"I did tell you I would come," he shot back, his temper flaring. Why was his mother so firmly assured that she could take care of herself?

"Yes, yes, but I—I didn't—I didn't think you were serious!" Narcissa sputtered.

Draco sent her a flat look. "Well I'm here now. Goodness knows you couldn't sound at least slightly happy to see me."

And with that, he marched off, his rage at his mother now equaling his rage at Harry Potter.

* * *

HARRY

If Draco Malfoy used Veritaserum on his best mate to figure out why he met with Blaise Zabini, Harry would kill him. He didn't care how many times they'd talked, how many assignments they'd suffered through together, how many times they'd kissed... he would end him on the spot.

Rage laced through his veins. In fact, 'rage' didn't begin to cover it. More like a vengeful, wrathful, poisonous snake rearing up inside him and preparing to bite Malfoy's head off. He felt like punching a mirror. Perhaps the shattered glass would satisfy him.

With an angry groan, he collapsed on his four-poster bed, burying his head in his hands. Thankfully, the eighth-year boys' dormitory was empty, but not for long. At that moment, a tall, red-haired, gangly boy entered, the last boy Harry wanted to see.

"Harry?" Ron asked tentatively, his brows furrowed in concern. Behind him, an equally worried Hermione stood, her eyes darting around the room, taking in every detail.

"Harry, are you— "

Harry gritted his teeth. "I'm shit. I look and feel like absolute shit."

Hermione stepped forward, sitting on the bed beside him. "Is this about how Draco suddenly ran off to see his mother over Easter?"

Harry sighed. "A bit?"

"Tell us, mate," said Ron.

He looked at him, at loss for what to say. He couldn't tell the truth. He already felt bitter enough with Malfoy, he couldn't have Ron be angry with him as well. He'd implode. But then, what to tell them?

"Hermione, you know how you were saying how the Death Eaters were attacking Muggles?" he began, getting an idea.

She nodded. "What about it?"

"Why do you think that is?"

Ron and Hermione both lapsed into silence. "Who knows?" said Ron at last. "Could be anything. Could be for fun."

"But that's not right," Hermione said with a frown. "There's no end goal to that. It wouldn't make sense."

Silence fell between the three, and Harry was reminded of all the times they'd done this before, working out Voldemort's plans and attempting to stop them. It wasn't a good thought.

"How'd McGonagall go?" he asked, attempting to distract himself from the onslaught of memories. "You told her about it, right? What'd she say?"

"Well, she believed us," said Ron. "She said she'd do everything in her power to stop it. But Harry"—Harry tensed— "you still haven't answered us. What happened with Malfoy?"

He forced himself to keep his voice level. "I'm not sure, to be honest. I tried telling him about the Muggles and he freaked." His tongue felt clumsy as he spoke.

Ron looked stumped. Meanwhile, Hermione's eye twitched, and Harry gulped. He knew she knew it was a lie, and a piss-poor attempt at doing so, too. But, by some miracle, she didn't say anything.

Harry turned to look at Ron, trying to imagine how his friend could be talking to Zabini. But, try as he might, he couldn't find a trace of guilt in his dumbfounded expression.

* * *

DRACO

He was laying absentmindedly on the floor of his room when his mother came for him, knocking thrice on the door before entering.

"Draco?" she said, her voice hushed. "Come for dinner."

She left, and he watched her go, guilt consuming him as he did. But he shook it off, standing and brushing the dust from his clothes before following her downstairs.

There were three sets of grand staircases between his room and the dining room, and more then seven different corridors. Along these corridors, there were more than a hundred black-and-white portraits, as well as several exquisitely-colored tapestries and ornately-framed paintings. Countless doors led off in other directions, and more were concealed by magic and gargoyles. The place oozed Galleons just how Lucius liked it, and, in turn, Draco did too.

He crossed each of these corridors with purpose, stepped down each staircase with grandeur, passed the expensive tapestries and paintings without a second glance, and ignored the portraits even as some great-great-great uncle of his called after him, "What are you wearing, boy? What happened to decency!"

He finally reached the dining room. Pushing open the doors, he was immediately greeted by the sight of his mother and several house-elves tending to her. Narcissa was seated at the long, thin table that only a year ago the dead body of the Muggle Studies teacher, Professor Charity Burbage, had fallen upon after being killed by Voldemort. Then her dead body had been eaten by his snake, Naginj. Draco shuddered at the memory.

"Sit," said his mother, gesturing to the seat across her.

Draco gulped, feeling as though he were about to sick. He never wanted to sit at this table ever again, never even wanted to be in this room anymore, but his mother still insisted upon using it.

"Can't we eat in the kitchen?" Draco begged, trying to convince her as he had attempted to so many times before.

As always, his mother shook her head. "Sit."

He suppressed a groan, instead crossing the room to do as she said. Gritting his teeth, he sat at the edge of his seat, ready to run as soon as the necessity arose.

"Potatoes?" Narcissa asked daintily, tipping some onto her plate as she did.

With little appetite, he shook his head, making Narcissa sigh.

"Draco," she said seriously, and suddenly all pretense was gone.

"Mum, why won't you protect yourself against father?" he flung at her, his short temper—which he'd had on a leash for the last few days he'd been at the Manor—snapping.

His mother's expression darkened. "Draco— " she began severely.

"Mother, I asked you a question. It would be rude not to answer."

Narcissa visibly swelled with rage. The house-elves, sensing danger, retreated into the shadows. Meanwhile, she stood, attempting to collect herself.

"Draco, if there's something you wish to say to me— "

He laughed without humor. "I just did!"

Narcissa snarled and, with a sudden move, struck him hard across the cheek. Caught by surprise, he staggered back.

"How many times," she hissed, drawing herself to her full height. "How many times do I have to repeat myself? I am protected. I am prepared! And it is not your _place_— "

"My place," Draco sneered, careful to stay out of her reach. "How many times do I have to tell _you_, Mother— "

Narcissa opened her mouth, prepared to lash out once more, but he spoke before she could.

"No!" he cried. "I've told you again and again, I've asked in every way possible, but you ignore me no matter what I do. Maybe I should ask what you're hiding instead!"

"I'm hiding nothing," she hissed, spreading her arms wide as if to prove it.

"Nothing!" Draco guffawed. "I am many things, Mother, but I'm no fool."

"Enough!" she thundered, looking absolutely murderous. With a swipe, she withdrew from the sleeve of her cloak a wand, and Draco couldn't help but cower before it. The house-elves pressed deeper into the shadows.

"Mink!" she called, and the house-elf stumbled forward, trembling in fear.

"Yes, master?" she squeaked, eyes wide in terror.

"Take this plate upstairs to Draco's room," Narcissa commanded her, eyes flashing. "Immediately, Mink."

The elf didn't hesitate. With a _crack_, she and the plate were gone.

Draco held his mother's gaze the entire time, refusing to back down while every muscle in his body screamed at him to run. But he didn't show it, and eventually his mother lowered her wand.

"Go," she said to him, her voice trembling with rage.

In that moment, he could relate to Mink. He bolted from the room without looking back.

* * *

HARRY

He needed to confront Ron soon. Hermione was already suspicious, and it was only time before the other caught on to something amiss. That, or Hermione would tell him. Either way, he needed to act fast.

That was why he found himself standing frozen outside the eighth year boys' dormitories, staring at the handle, fully aware of the curious glances he was getting as he drew up the courage to turn it.

Ron was inside, alone. He knew because Neville had left through the portrait hole only a few moments ago, and Ron had turned in early. If he wanted to do it, now was the best chance he'd gotten for a long while.

It was at times like this when he felt as though maybe he shouldn't be in Gryffindor. He wasn't brave enough to talk to his best mate, how could he be brave enough to belong in the House of the brave? Perhaps he was still better suited for Slytherin, like the Sorting Hat had first thought he was all those years ago. He could have become a dubious coward like Malfoy, who proposed to drug people against their will and then ran away when others told him that there was no way in hell that they would let him do it.

No, he wouldn't become a slimy Slytherin. He'd drawn Gryffindor's Sword from the depths of the Sorting Hat in his Second Year. He'd faced death willingly more times than he could count. He wasn't a coward, and he would never be one.

It was this thought that propelled him to turn the handle.

Ron turned as he entered, brows raised. "Harry? You look like you're about to be sick."

Now that he was there, he found that his momentary burst of courage had left him. He simply stood there, his mouth gaping wide stupidly.

At that moment, he heard quiet footsteps from behind. Turning, he saw a mane of bushy brown hair: Hermione.

"Harry? Ginny told me you were standing frozen in front of the door for a good five minutes... Are you alright?"

He grit his teeth. Now, he had to say it _now._

"WhatdidyouwantwithZabini?"

Ron stared at him, perplexed. "What? I didn't catch that. Mate, what's wrong— "

Harry squeezes his eyes shut. "What did you want with Zabini?"

Ron paled. "W-what? I—I don't know what you're talking about— "

Hermione's eyes darted between him and Harry. "Harry? What do you mean? Ron, what's— "

Harry forced himself to move. Quickly, he shut the door and muttered a quick, "_Muffliato_," before turning back to Ron.

"I meant, what did you want with Zabini?" he repeated, his eyes blazing. "You met with him, didn't you? A few nights ago? In the Forbidden Forest?"

Hermione gaped at him. "Ron? Is that true?"

He gulped. "I—I mean— "

"You want to why Draco left, Ron?" Harry said, his tone dangerously quiet. Ron flinched.

"W-why?"

"Because he wanted to give you a dose Veritaserum for the truth. I told him no, and he ran."

Hermione stared. "Really? How could he possibly— "

"It's not what you think!" Ron interrupted, casting Hermione an apologetic glance. "I can explain, I swear!"

"Then get on with it," Harry told him.

Ron gulped and took a deep breath before he began.

"He sent me a letter, of course," he said, a slight tremble in his voice. "It was about a week ago. He told me he wanted to meet me in the Forbidden Forest. He swore it wasn't a trap and that he just wanted to talk."

"Ron, you idiot, what if it was?!" Hermione cried, staring at her boyfriend in horror.

"You don't think I took precautions, 'Mione?!" Ron exclaimed. "I had a backup plan, and a backup plan for the backup plan! If he tried anything, I would've escaped!"

She didn't look convinced, but Ron continued before she could fret any more.

"Anyway, I went where he told me at the time he said, and he was there, alone, just as he promised. And he told me"—He hesitated— "he told me he wanted to get out."

Harry interrupted. "'Get out'? What do you mean, 'get out'?"

"Like, leave," Ron clarified. "Leave the Death Eaters. Get out."

He gaped at him in surprise. "But, Ron, he's _Zabini_— "

"I know." He ran a hand through his red hair anxiously. "That was my first thought, too. But that's what he said. And he asked for a safe place to stay. Where he could hide. That was all."

"And what did you say?" Hermione asked breathlessly.

"I told him that he could shove his wand where the sun doesn't shine," Ron said seriously.

Harry couldn't help it; he snorted with amusement.

"But now you're considering that he may have been telling the truth?" Hermione ventured.

Ron nodded.

"Why didn't you tell us sooner?" she pressed.

"I tried to tell Harry during breakfast a few days ago, but you interrupted me with the information about the Death Eaters attacking Muggles, Hermione. I haven't gotten another chance since."

Harry sighed with relief. Ron was innocent; Ron had his reasons. He wasn't going to lose his best mate after all.

Soon, he felt guilt spread from his heart. His regret must have shown on his face, for Ron said, "Don't worry, mate, I don't blame you for being suspicious."

Harry gave him a tentative smile.

* * *

DRACO

It was his last day before he returned to Hogwarts, and he found himself regretting ever having come to the Manor in the first place. No matter how hard he tried, his mother would not budge. His wrath towards Harry Potter now seemed minuscule compared to his wrath towards his own mother.

He stalked down one of the many corridors of the Manor, pacing aimlessly around the house. He burst through a door, ducked around a tapestry, whipped around a corner, and shoved past a suit of armor. He was so lost in his thoughts he didn't notice where he was until it was too late.

He froze in the middle of the corridor, glancing up and down the hall to be sure he was where he thought he was. The steep set of stairs off the side proved him right. He could've kicked the wall in frustration. Was he trying to destroy himself? Down those stairs was the cellar where Voldemort had once kept Luna and the wandmaker Ollivander, which meant that before him was the drawing room, the Dark Lord's preferred torture chamber.

His legs carried him forward into the grand room. It had the same ornate fireplace, the same intricate rug, the same amount of wealth. Instinctively, he looked up to the space where their old chandelier had once hung before their old house-elf, Dobby, had sent it crashing down. They'd since replaced it, and the new one glittered just as grandly as the one before it. But Harry Potter's narrow miss with Lord Voldemort had a price. He'd gotten tortured for it, he remembered bitterly, recalling the pain that followed as punishment for letting Harry Potter escape. Voldemort allowed no mistakes to be made in his ranks.

The room felt like it was suffocating him. He left, closing the doors behind him. Then he hurried down the corridor, his every intent to get as far as he could from the memories of Lord Voldemort, but was stopped mid-way by a thought.

Luna had spent months locked in his dark cellar. Slowly, he turned towards the stairs that led to it. He'd never gotten much more than a few quick glances at its interior. What was it like? Infested with rats? Filled with shadowy corners and twisting passages? Eventually, his curiosity won, and he made his way down the steep steps carefully.

"_Lumos_," he said as he approached the bars. Hesitantly, he stuck his wand between the bars, peering into the corners. He leaned forward. Was there something in the corner—?

Before he could see anything more, there was a yell, and a large figure lunged for his wand. He yelped, whipping his arm back, just barely managing to free his wand from the creature's claws. Heart pounding, he took several stumbling steps towards the stairs.

"What in bloody— "

Clear from the bars, he raised his wand, the light on its tip illuminating a figure with olive skin; long, ratty black hair; wild eyes; and bared, yellowing teeth. It was—

"P-Patil?"

Parvati Patil screamed, a hoarse, guttural sound. "Let me out, you filthy Death Eater, before I tear you and your mother limb from limb!"

Draco gaped at her, eyes wide with horror. "I—I don't understand— "

Behind Parvati, he could see three other figures; he raised his wand to better see them. One was a man with a shaggy beard and wrinkled skin; another was a woman with thick black hair and an athletic physique. They both closely resembled Parvati. Her parents, Draco realized. The last he recognized to be Padma Patil, Parvati's twin sister.

"What don't you understand?" Parvati's mother snarled, placing a protective hand on her daughter's shoulder. "I think she made herself quite clear."

Before he could reply, there was a clang from above. He whipped around to see his mother crashing down the stairs, freezing in horror as she spotted him.

"Draco," she breathed. "What are you—get out of there!"

But he tightened his grip on his wand. "What the hell is this?"

"Nothing that concerns you!" Narcissa screeched. "Now get out of here before I have to make you!"

Draco's heart stopped. "I thought you were done with Voldemort! I though we were done with him!"

"This has nothing to do with him!" she cried.

"THIS HAS EVERYTHING TO DO WITH HIM!" he roared back.

Behind him, he was vaguely aware of the Patil family watching him with shock. But he didn't notice much more, the roaring in his ears and his red vision was drowning out everything but his mother, who was trying to calm herself. This made Draco sneer.

"Still worried about your perfect facade," he jeered. "Don't you understand? Nobody thinks of the Malfoys anything close to royalty anymore, Mother! You can quit acting as the perfect wife! We're Death Eaters now, remember?"

Narcissa's wand was out before he knew it, and the Stinging Hex hit him in an instant. With a yelp, he fell to his knees, gasping.

When the pain receded, he became aware of his mother approaching him.

"You don't understand, Draco," she said, her voice low and dangerously calm. "This is the way it has to be."

He raised his head. "You're insane."

He didn't give himself time to second-guess it: he pointed his wand towards his mother and shouted,_ "Stupefy!"_

She fell with a crash, her wand slipping from her fingers and rolling down the last few steps. Draco scooped it up and pocketed it. Then he examined her still figure, letting loose a slow breath.

A scuffle from behind him made him turn. The Patils were staring at him in awe.

"Let us out," Mr. Patil begged, his eyes sparkling with a flicker of hope.

Draco started forward, but then paused, suddenly reminded of his own words: _We're Death Eaters now, remember?!_

That's what they were to the Ministry of Magic: Death Eaters. A family to be watched, a family that was a risk. If he let the Patils go, wouldn't he be proving them right? He could almost hear the whispers: _Narcissa Malfoy locked the Patils in her cellar._ _Narcissa Malfoy is a Death Eater scum. See that boy, Draco? That's her son. Poisoned, I tell you. Mark my words, he'll turn out the same way._

His mother would be locked in Azkaban. He could be locked in Azkaban. And if he wasn't—what would he have left?

He shuddered, horrified at what he was about to do. But he grit his teeth, trying to ignore the fright growing on Mr. Patil's face as he realized what Draco's silence meant.

"I'm sorry," he said, backing away and shaking his head. "I'm sorry, I—I can't."

"No!" Padma cried, lunging forward, restrained by her mother. "No! Malfoy— "

"You're not staying here," he assured them. "I swear that. But I can't, not now— "

"Why not?!" Parvati snarled. "Why not!"

"Let my family go home!" Mrs. Patil cried.

He shook his head. "I'm sorry— "

"Malfoy, you bitch! Come back!"

But he turned away, squeezing his eyes shut tight against their panicked screams as he levitated his unconscious mother up the stairs and out of sight.


	20. Chapter 19-Dungeons and Snakes

DRACO

_"Renervate."_

"Draco—?"

His mother was stirring, lifting her head groggily. Draco lowered his wand, glaring at her fiercely.

"Do you mind explaining?" he asked, his tone harsh.

Narcissa's breath hitched, and she immediately began to sob. Draco was taken aback. Out of all the possible reactions, this was not one he imagined. He expected anger, or fright, or possibly even remorse, not tears.

"Mother, what—?"

"Draco, I'm sorry," she sniffed. "I didn't want this, I didn't want any of this! Why— "

He stared at her dumbly as she was overcome with another wave of fresh sobs. What was going on? What should he do?

"Mother!" he cried, and she stifled her cries. "Mother, what do you mean? What's going on?"

She looked down, hiding her face from him. For a long while, all he could hear was her deep, shaky breaths.

"Mother!"

She raised her head. She'd stopped crying. "Draco, I'm sorry. He came, and I—I didn't have a choice— "

_"He?"_ Draco raised his voice, a mix of terror and anger clutching his heart. "Who's _he?"_

"Gedeon Albrecktsson!" she wailed.

"Who?"

"He's the leader," Narcissa said softly. "He came to me months ago. He asked for my help."

"And why did you help him?" Draco hissed between his teeth.

"Because he threatened me with you!"

He stared, opening and closing his mouth, but found he couldn't speak. A long silence fell, the only sounds their ragged breathing, until at last Narcissa broke it.

"Draco, you understand we cannot let them go," she told him seriously. "If we do, the Ministry will not listen to reason. We will both be locked in Azkaban."

He nodded, feeling detached.

"And you cannot whisper a word of this to anyone."

Again, he nodded.

"Not even Potter."

He started to nod, but then shook his head.

"What?" Narcissa barked. "Draco— "

"Mother, they could help," he insisted. "And Albrecktsson is important, I have to tell them about him!"

"Absolutely under no circumstances— "

He cut her off mid-sentence, the cogs in his brain turning. "Mother, I need you to tell me when Albrecktsson or Father or any of the Death Eaters return. Send a patronus. And treat the Patils well."

"I can't let them out, Draco— " Narcissa began, but he interrupted her again.

"I know," he said, truthfully. "But give them light, good food, blankets, whatever. Just make sure they aren't living in squalor."

Narcissa glared at him, but relented. "Fine. Now let me out of these bonds."

He did with a wave of his wand, and his mother stood, stretching her aching limbs and rubbing her wrists. "My wand," she demanded.

He handed it to her warily. She pocketed it and, after a moment of suspicious hesitation, he copied her.

"I cannot guarantee I will be able to contact you when they return, _if_ they return," she told him.

His heart plummeted. For the Malfoys, the words _I cannot guarantee_ usually meant it, whatever it was, would not happen.

"Mother, please— "

"Draco, I will not risk what is left of our reputation to be in ruins— "

"You're a blinded fool!" He snarled, his anger building up again until it was simmering at the surface. "You claim you have everything under control, and yet you hex your only son instead of explaining things to him!"

She stood to her full height. "You know nothing. You know nothing! Yet you act like you do, giving _me_ orders! I am your mother! Treat me like it, like you did with your father!"

That was it. He exploded, all his rage for his mother and Harry Potter and for the stupid, stupid situation he was in crashing out in one, big tidal wave of white-hot wrath.

"TO HELL WITH FATHER!" he roared, so loud that his mother flinched. "I DID TREAT HIM THAT WAY, AND LOOK WHERE IT GOT ME! A MARK ON MY ARM AND A FUTURE IN SHAMBLES! AND NOW YOU, YOU'RE DOING THE SAME, YOU'RE JOINING THE DEATH EATERS JUST LIKE HE DID AND ARE PRANCING AROUND JUST LIKE HE DID AND— "

"Draco! Draco, I— "

"IF YOU'RE TOO COWARDLY TO SEND A SINGLE PATRONUS CHARM, THEN FINE! I'LL LET YOU ROT ALONG WITH THE REST OF THE DEATH EATERS! BUT I THOUGHT THAT WE'D AGREED NOT TO SUPPORT VOLDEMORT ANYMORE! OR HAVE YOU FORGOTTEN WHAT HE WAS LIKE?"

He stopped there, breathing heavily. Narcissa stared at him, looking as if she wanted to say something, but was slightly afraid to do so.

"What," he snapped at her.

She lifted her chin, regaining some of her pride. "I remember. What he was like, I remember."

Draco took a deep breath to calm himself. "Then please. Send it if they come."

Narcissa hesitated. Anxiously, he waited for her reply.

"Alright."

A large weight was lifted from his chest, and some of his anger dissipated.

* * *

HARRY

He ignored Draco Malfoy when he spotted him in the halls of Hogwarts after the holidays, and he still ignored him when the blond called out his name over the mass of students hurrying to class. He tried to ignore him when Malfoy caught hold of his bag, but he couldn't continue ignoring him when the bag was ripped from his hands. He whipped around.

"Give it back, Malfoy," he hissed, trying to snatch it from his arms. Malfoy held it out reach.

"Harry, we need to talk," he told him.

Harry laughed shortly. "Really? I don't think we do, actually. Give me back my bag."

Instead of doing that, Malfoy reared back and chucked it across the corridor. It flew over the student body, making a graceful arc over their heads. Several students paused to watch as it tumbled through the air, over a banister, and out of sight.

Harry gaped at the place where his bag had disappeared with shock. Soon, his disbelief was replaced by white-hot anger.

"Dammit, Malfoy, my potions essay was in there!"

He rounded on the blond, expecting to see a smug smirk, not panic.

"Draco—?"

"Harry, Parvati Patil and her parents are being kept in my family's cellar," Draco told him urgently.

Harry stared. "What?!"

"Like I said, we need to talk."

* * *

Classes forgotten, he, Ron, and Hermione clung to Draco's every word as he explained what had happened at the Manor. When he was finished, there was a stunned silence that lasted for a full minute. It was broken only by Ron, who, at loss for words, only said, "Bloody hell."

"That was a little cold, wasn't it?" said Hermione, addressing Draco. "Leaving the Patils there."

"What was I supposed to do, be sent to Azkaban?" he retorted.

"You could've at least told them that, or something," said Ron.

Draco sent him a withering glare. "Well, next time I go there, you'll be sure to let them know, Weasley."

"Me? Why would I— "

"Alright!" Harry interrupted. "What's done is done. Right now, we have to concentrate on what we can do."

"Right," said Draco. "And speaking of what we can do— " He rounded on Ron. "Weasel, do you mind telling us what you were doing, meeting with Blaise Zabini secretly in the forbidden forest?"

Ron opened his mouth to defend himself, but Hermione cut in.

"Actually," she said, "he told us while you were gone." Quickly, she explained Blaise's letter and request.

Draco listened to her with rapt attention. When she finished, he gave her a slow smile. "Well, it's obvious what to do now, isn't it?"

Harry stared at him in horror. "You're not suggesting— "

Draco's smile, if possible, got wider. "Yes. We're going to have to talk to Zabini."

* * *

Blaise's reply came the very next day during breakfast, agreeing to meet at the edge of the forest at their allotted time. Hermione passed the message on to Draco at the Slytherin table with a discreet nod.

The day went by at a snail's pace. Harry anxiously tapped his foot all throughout Transfiguration. When classes were finally over, he did his homework much faster than was wise, and spent the rest of the time leading up to midnight surreptitiously sitting on his Invisibility Cloak.

When it was fifteen minutes to Midnight, he, Ron, and Hermione ducked under the cloak and exited through the portrait hole. They had to stoop to keep their feet hidden.

None of them noticed the mane of fiery red hair that followed them.

They crept down the corridors, dodging a few teachers, but found the castle mostly empty. When they arrived in the entrance hall, they found Draco hidden behind the suit of armor they'd previously agreed would give him plenty of cover before they arrived. Then, with a quick glance around, Harry pulled the cloak off, and together they left the castle.

They strode across the grounds to the forest near Hagrid's hut. Once in the safety of the trees, they proceeded slowly, wands drawn and illuminated, and ears straining for any sound.

At last, they reached the clearing to find Blaise there, as promised. He, too, had his wand out, but he held it loosely by his side and he leaned leisurely against a tree. At the sight of the four of them, he raised his brows.

"I was under the impression that I would be meeting with only Granger, not the whole lot of you," he said, his tone slightly annoyed.

"Tough shit," Ron snapped, but Hermione gestured for him to calm down.

"We thought it best to come as a group, so that we need only tell the story once," she said smoothly.

Blaise regarded her with a thoughtful expression. Eventually, he said, "All right. What did you want to ask?"

Draco stepped forward, a knowledgable glint in his eye. "You want to leave the Death Eaters, yes?"

Blaise nodded once. "Yes."

"And you must know that's no easy task."

"Hence why I'm here," he agreed.

"Exactly. But you must be very desperate to come to us, of all people, for help. Surely there are others who would help you, others whom you trust more than us?"

Blaise paused, and Harry could've grinned at the complete genius behind Draco's statement. If Blaise denied it, he would be exposing himself as a liar, likely sent from the Death Eaters. But if he confirmed it, he would be giving them the upper hand, admitting that they were his last hope. Draco had weaved a simple spiderweb, and Blaise was the insect.

At last, Blaise gritted his teeth. "Yes, there were. But they are all either unavailable, unreliable, or refuse to help."

Draco smirked. "Pity."

Blaise only glared.

"Well!" cried Hermione, clapping her hands together. "We only have a few questions for you, Blaise, if you don't mind."

He swiveled his gaze to her. "Well?"

"First, we wanted to ask you about a certain Lavender Brown. What are the Death Eaters using to keep her in line?"

"Parvati Patil and her family," said Blaise blandly. "They're keeping them locked up somewhere. I've got no idea where."

Hermione nodded. "And Lavender, she's not under the Imperious Curse, is she?"

Blaise shook his head. "No."

"What about the Elder Wand, Blaise?" said Ron. "What do the Death Eaters want with it?"

"The power, of course," Blaise responded. He rolled his eyes at their dumbfounded expressions. "What? There's not always an elaborate plot behind every move. Our new Master just wanted that extra boost of magic."

"And who is that Master?" Draco asked.

"His name's Gedeon Albrecktsson. He's a mean one."

Harry glanced at Draco, who was carefully schooling his emotions. But he knew he was thinking the same thing that was running through Harry's mind: whoever this Gedeon Albrecktsson was, he seemed to be at the middle of everything.

"What are Albrecktsson's ideals, Zabini?" Ron asked, his expression hard.

Blaise shrugged. "Basically everything the Dark Lord wanted. Servitude, power, world domination—you get the idea."

"And how does he plan to get this?" said Harry, his stomach doing backflips.

Blaise smirked. "Now, _that_ is the interesting bit. I was wondering how long it would take you to ask. You always were a slow bunch— "

"Just answer the question, Zabini," Draco barked, an unspoken threat in his words.

He glared at him before continuing. "Albrecktsson believes that, while the Dark Lord had the right idea, he didn't have the right approach to it. The Dark Lord always went for head-on confrontations, duels and war. Albrecktsson believes that this is why he fell. He thinks a more subtle way of creating chaos is the key to taking down the Ministry and all rebels. So, instead of targeting Wizards, he's been targeting the Muggles."

"But why?" questioned Hermione. "The Ministry has hardly noticed the Muggle attacks. What's the end goal?"

"This is just the beginning," Blaise told her. "The attacks will just become more and more frequent, confusing the Muggles. Then, just when they are on their tipping points, the Death Eaters will lay waste to a city, and they won't bother to hide magic. In fact, they'll make sure the Muggles see it. Because, if Muggles found out about Wizards— "

"The Ministry would be frantic," Harry realized, everything clicking together. "They would be so spread out, they wouldn't be able to defend themselves against even a small raid of Death Eaters."

Silence followed his statement as the other three digested it. Harry's mind was racing. If Alebrecktsson planned to raid the Ministry, there was little they could do. Besides, they didn't even know when it was going to happen. And what could they do when it did?

"So!" Blaise clapped his hands together. "This is all very terrible and all, but I just can't allow you to get off for free— "

"You're charging us?!" Hermione gasped. "That's completely barbaric!"

"No, he isn't," Draco said with a glare. "He's told us everything we need. There's no reason for us to stay."

"Perhaps you won't," Blaise amended, tilting his head with respect.

"None of us will," Draco snapped. Then, turning on his heel, he called, "See you, Blaise!"

He marched from the clearing, obvious that every intention of his was to head back to the castle, but suddenly stopped; none of the rest had moved an inch.

"Draco... " Harry began hesitantly.

Draco sneered. "Oh, don't tell me you're going to be _noble_, Potter."

Harry ignored him. "Name your price," he said to Blaise.

His eyes flickered to him. "When the Ministry comes after the Death Eaters, which they will, you tell them I was a double agent for you."

Harry raised a brow. "And?"

"And nothing. That's all."

Ron's jaw fell open in shock. "That's all?!"

They stared at Blaise in astonishment. Could it be possible? Could his price really be so little?

"Stop gaping like idiots," Blaise sneered. "Is that a yes?"

"Yes," Hermione breathed.

"Good. Well, it's been a pleasure!" He turned away.

"Wait," Draco growled. "That can't possibly be all. What do you really want, Zabini?"

Blaise turned back. "Did you want more than to get out, Malfoy?"

He was silent. Blaise smirked.

"I think we're done here," he said.

He stalked off and, with a swish of his cloak, disappeared into the shadows.


	21. Chapter 20-Pause for a Kiss

HARRY

The four snuck back to the castle in silence. The light from their wands was the only thing that allowed them to see, especially in the dense forest, and the tiny sliver of the crescent moon provided little light. But despite this, Harry didn't miss the flash of red out of the corner of his eye.

He froze, throwing out an arm to catch the others' attention. His hand connected with Ron's chest, who stopped, bewildered.

"What?" he asked.

Harry didn't answer. He was busy squinting through the darkness, ears straining for any sound. The red had vanished. Leaning forward, he tried to peer into the dark shadows caused by the trees, but they offered no answers. Vaguely, he noticed the others had stopped around him.

A wand raised in his peripheral vision; he glanced to his right to see Draco, his brow furrowed and his muscles tensed.

"What is it, Harry?" Hermione breathed.

He had no good answer. "I thought I saw something... " he murmured. "A flash of red."

Straining their senses, the four looked around in deathly silence. Finally, Ron let out a sigh.

"There's nothing there, mate." He lowered his wand. "C'mon."

The others nodded in agreement and walked away, until it was only Harry who's eyes darted around suspiciously. At last, he realized that they were right; there was nothing there. He lowered his wand and hurried to catch up with the others.

"—Blaise was telling the truth?" Ron was asking.

"I think so," Hermione replied. "Everything he said adds up with what we already knew."

"But I don't understand why he wanted so little," said Ron with a frown. "I mean, he's Slytherin. The whole lot of them are selfish, greedy, power-hungry morons— "

Draco cleared his throat meaningfully.

"It's true!" Ron protested. "You're all prats!"

Draco glared daggers at the redhead. "Well, Weasley, I'll have you know the you Gryffindors are stuffy, pretentious, good-for-nothing— l

"Alright, that's enough of that," Hermione barked, cutting Draco off mid-insult. "What about the new leader, Gedeon, er—Albrecktsson, was it? Have any of you heard anything about him?"

They all shook their heads. Then Ron frowned.

"Actually... " he said slowly, "I think I might've. Wasn't he a Ministry Worker for the Department of International Magical Cooperation?"

Harry blinked. "How on earth do you know that?"

"Because our father was ranting about him for hours over the summer," came a new voice.

Harry started. Reaching for his wand, he whipped around to see red—red hair, brown eyes, and a stern look. It was Ginny.

He breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of her, relieved by the thought that the flash of red that he'd seen earlier must've been her. He pocketed his wand. Ginny was accompanied by Luna, who seemed unusually focused on her surroundings. But his emotions quickly turned from relief to fear as he saw Ginny's expression.

"Harry Potter," she said, her voice dangerously low. "Could you possibly tell me _why_ you're going to Blaise Zabini for information?"

He gulped. "Erm... "

"We didn't have anyone else to go to," Hermione jumped in. "We thought we'd give it a try."

This, far from appeasing Ginny's mind, made her eyes flash dangerously. "And if it had been a trap?"

"Then we would have been prepared for it," said Draco.

She groaned. "I can't believe— "

But she was cut off by a brilliant light descending from the sky in the shape of a great bear. Harry's eyes widened.

"What in hell— "

A silvery bear fell before them, hovering just above the ground, and when it spoke, it spoke in the voice of Narcissa Malfoy.

It said only two words: _They're here._

Then it sank into the earth, fading into nothing.

There was a short silence in which Harry's heart beat wildly in his chest. Suddenly, Draco sprang into action, looking panicked.

"We have to go," he yelped. "We have to go now!"

"What?" said Hermione.

"Wait, Draco," —Harry reached out and grasped him by the shoulder— "where do we have to go? Why?"

Draco rounded on him, a wild look in his eyes. "The Manor. I told my mother to tell me if the Death Eaters came for the Patils, and— "

"Wait," Ginny interrupted. "The Patils? Like Parvati Patil?"

"Yes, they're being kept in our cellar— "

"WHAT?!"

"That doesn't matter right now!" Draco cried, wringing his hands. "What matters is that there are Death Eaters in my house doing Merlin-knows-what to my mother, and we have to save her!"

"But, Draco," Hermione said, collecting her thoughts, "what're we going to do when we get there?"

"I don't know!" he grit out, pacing before them impatiently.

"So that's it?" said Ginny. "We're just gonna go?"

Ron held out his arms, his palms facing out. "Woah, slow down— "

"Nobody said anything about we," Harry said to Ginny sternly, ignoring Ron.

"Mate, hold up— "

Ginny glared at him. "Harry, I'm just as capable as you are— "

"I know, Gin, but this isn't your fight!"

"So? I can handle myself— "

"I'm going if Ginny's going," Luna cut in.

Harry cast a sharp glance at her. "Well, you'll be staying."

Ginny glared at him, but before she could say anything else, Draco stopped pacing long enough to cry, "Enough!"

Silence fell at his outburst, and the entire clearing turned their eyes to him.

"If you want to come, then come," Draco commanded, leaving no room for argument in his tone. "But whether you do or you don't, I'm going. Alone, if I have to."

A silence followed this statement. Harry was overcome with a sudden sense of déjà vu: him telling his friends that exact thing to save Sirius. He knew Draco was telling the truth; he'd been, after all.

"Alright," he told him. "We're going."

"We are?" Ron marveled.

"Yeah, we are." He bit his lip. "Ginny too. But how are we getting there?"

"Thestrals?" Ginny suggested.

Hermione shook her head. "They won't come without food."

"Brooms?" said Ron.

"Too long," Draco replied, pacing again.

"Apparition, then," said Luna.

"Great!" cried Draco, clapping his hands together. "Let's go."

He strode quickly from the forest, and they followed without hesitation. Before long, they'd crossed the courtyard and reached the castle gates.

"Anyone underage?" Hermione asked as they stepped outside the borders.

Ginny raised her hand.

"Alright," said Hermione, taking charge. "Ginny, attach yourself to Harry. Luna, do you know where the Malfoy Manor is?"

Luna shivered. "Ooh, I don't like that place much. No."

"Then attach yourself to someone who does. Everyone else, we'll meet just outside the main gates."

They nodded, satisfied with her plan.

"See you in a moment," said Ron, and with a twist, he was gone.

Ginny grabbed Harry's hand. Hermione raised her wand and muttered a few quick words; a silver stream of her otter Patronus came out and disappeared towards the castle. Without a word of explanation, she followed Ron. Meanwhile, Luna attached herself to Draco.

"Hold tight," Harry warned Ginny, and he turned on the spot.

The uncomfortable darkness that followed seemed longer than usual, and he emerged gasping for air. Beside him, Ginny did the same.

There was a _crack_, and Draco and Luna appeared. Immediately, Draco rushed forward, pushing them backwards until Harry's back collided with the hedge behind him.

"Where's Ron and Hermione?" Draco whispered, glancing around.

To Harry's left they emerged, already hidden amongst the leaves.

"Here," said Hermione, inching along the hedge towards them. Ron followed behind.

"Good." Draco cast an anxious look around, and Harry took in the grand manor to their left, looming out from the gloom. It seemed just as threatening to Harry as it did when he'd first seen it, back when Voldemort was still in power. Shivers slid down his spine.

"We can't enter from the front," Draco told them in a low voice. "It'd be too obvious. Follow me."

He inched away from the Manor, quickly darting around Ginny and Luna—who were to his left—and then moved as quickly as he could while keeping his back pressed against the hedge. The other five followed him, and Harry struggled to control his breathing to better hear the sounds around him. So far, he was failing miserably, and his breaths and the pounding of his heartbeat were still effectively drowning out all other noises.

Draco turned a corner, and along they marched, increasing their speed now that they were hidden from the house's view. They ran for a long few minutes, finally stopping at a concealed side door. They drew their wands.

"Ready?" Draco asked, resting his hand on the handle.

They nodded, and Draco turned the knob.

Immediately, they burst through the door, wands raised, but found the corridor behind it empty.

"That's... odd," said Ginny.

"More like suspicious," said Ron, glancing around wildly.

Harry tightened his grip on his wand. "Stay alert."

Cautiously, they stepped forward, Draco leading the way. Only a little time passed until they emerged into a large room of marble statues lining the walls, each with prideful looks carved onto their faces.

"Is that Lucius?" Luna asked curiously, examining one closely.

Draco looked slightly green. "Yeah. C'mon, before I vomit."

None of them argued. They hurried away from the statues. Harry did his best not to look back.

After walking through another few corridors, they came to a stop before a pair of grand oak doors. Harry tightened his grip on his wand. Would the Death Eaters be waiting to ambush them on the other side? Steeling himself, he held his breath as Draco pushed them open.

Harry instinctively flinched, but no Death Eaters attacked them. They were in a study. A large desk piled high with papers lay on one side of the room, and on another there was a small table with a vase full of white roses on its middle. The walls were decorated with ornate portraits of various men, all wearing expensive suits and prideful expressions.

"Not to be judgmental here, Malfoy," said Ginny, "but your family's extremely vain."

Ron snorted in agreement. Draco just ignored them and pressed on.

The corridors he next took them through were worn, uneven, and narrow. They had an older feel to them, and had likely been built with the first parts of the house.

It was like a tunnel that led to a dungeon, Harry thought, stumbling over a stone in the process. Luckily, Draco caught him by the arm, barely pausing his gait. Harry hesitated before continuing on, his thoughts now focused on Draco as he watched him, a worried crease forming on his brow. He reminded himself not to forget to watch his step.

They walked for a few moments in silence, the only sounds their breathing and the steady beat of their soft footsteps. Harry's thoughts were just turning to how he wished to be in his soft, warm, cushy four-poster bed when suddenly a hand behind him took tight hold of his shoulder. He turned to see Luna, her eyes wide. She gestured for him to come close.

"I hear voices!" she whispered in his ear.

Harry glanced around at the others, who'd stopped and were looking at him and Luna with confusion etched in their expressions. Quiet, he mouthed to them, and they seemed to understand.

Silently, straining his senses, he crept forward, holding his breath as he went. Slowly, the voices became clearer.

"They're on the other side of this wall," he murmured to Hermione, who was next to him.

Together, they listened intently, but Harry couldn't make out a word.

They stayed that way for a good minute, trying everything they could to make the voices clearer, but they could discern nothing.

"C'mon," Draco muttered after a long while, gesturing them onward.

They followed him, keeping close. Soon they emerged into wide corridor lined with doors.

Draco looked up and down the hall before turning to them.

"Alright, split up," he told them. "Ginny, Luna: you'll go left and then right. Harry and I will go right twice. Ron, Hermione: you go right, then wait for us at the doors. Got it?"

They all nodded and, without another word, went their separate ways.

Before long, Harry and Draco were alone. Alone, Harry realized, for the first time since their fight.

"Er... Draco?" he muttered, his voice raspy. "I—I just thought I'd say sorry for— "

"Shut up, Potter," Draco interrupted. "Now is not the time."

He bit his lip. "But— "

"No." Draco rounded on him, glaring. "Stop trying to be noble, Potter. You're not really sorry. I know that. But I'll be damned if I have to have this conversation with you here."

Draco paused, staring at Harry as if waiting for his reply, but Harry found that he couldn't. Something seemed to have lodged in his throat. Draco, sensing this, started walking again.

"Let's go, Potter," he said, and they continued on.

The route they chose seemed to bring them in a circle. Harry and Draco kept their wands out, ready for any danger as, together, they checked behind each door that led off from the hall. But the Manor was mysteriously quiet, which, instead of calming Harry down, made him very uneasy. Where were the Death Eaters? And where was Narcissa?

Draco, meanwhile, was biting his lip. His brows were creased, and he kept licking his lips nervously. "What is it?" Harry asked in a voice slightly above a murmur.

Draco shook his head. "It's just—we should've met with Ginny and Luna by now."

Harry's stomach dropped. If anything happened to either of them— "Can we a go a bit faster?"

Draco didn't argue. They sped up, taking one door each, and only glancing once inside before shutting it quickly behind them.

Harry felt panic rising quickly from his gut. With each door he checked, his fear increased. Ginny and Luna were nowhere to be seen. Had they been caught by the Death Eaters? Were they being tortured? Were they—hurt? Dead? Harry couldn't bear the thought of it.

Maybe they were in the manor's cellar. Maybe they were with Narcissa. Maybe they—

"Merlin help me!"

Harry whipped around, raising his wand with a curse on his lips. Draco was leaning against a closed door, his cheeks bright red. Harry rushed forward.

"Draco! What— "

He froze as the door's handle turned. Draco scrambled away as it opened to reveal—Luna, looking—if possible—even more dazed than usual. Her pale-blonde hair had been messed up, and she was moving slowly, as if in a trance.

"Luna—?"

Before he could say much more, out came Ginny. She looked as if all her dreams had come true. And, like Luna, her hair had accumulated a few tangles. But what made Harry falter was the fact that he recognized the looks on their faces, almost as if he'd seen it before—

Then he realized. It was the look he'd seen shared between Ron and Hermione after they'd kissed for the first time, their eyes holding a glint of thrill and excitement, cheeks tinged slightly pink with embarrassment and giddiness. It was how Nymphadora Tonks had looked at Remus Lupin, a sparkle in her eyes. It was what had been celebrated at Bill and Fleur's wedding, and what Mr. and Mrs. Weasley shared that kept them together for so many years. It was the expression he saw in the mirror after he'd spent time with Cho, then Ginny, later Draco.

Luna and Ginny were lovestruck.

"Hullo, Harry," Ginny said brightly, her eyes dazed and unfocused. Luna echoed her.

Then, hooking their elbows together, they started off in the direction they came, wide smiles donning their faces.

Harry stared at them as they went, then slowly turned to a wide-eyed Draco.

"Did they—?"

Draco gave him a slow nod.


	22. Chapter 21-Pansy's Existence

DRACO

He, Harry, Ginny, and Luna traveled in awkward silence until they reached the split where they had parted ways with Ron and Hermione. Draco peered up the corridor, which was decidedly Ron-and-Hermione free. A growing knot of worry tightened in his gut, but he kept his expression carefully blank.

"If we hurry, we'll be able to catch up with them," he muttered to the others before setting off.

They followed, and soon the awkward silence fell again. They hurried down the corridor, eyes and ears peeled for anything unusual. Draco glanced behind him to see Ginny and Luna exchange tentative smiles. He snorted, but quickly covered it with a fake cough. The two girls looked at him accusingly.

"So... " said Harry, brows raised. "How long?"

Ginny gave a giddy giggle. "Just now."

"And... how was it?"

"It was quite nice," Luna replied.

"Awesome," agreed Ginny.

Draco tried—and failed—to hide another snort.

"So you're bisexual?" Harry asked.

Ginny grinned. "I suppose so."

"Who would've thought," Draco muttered under his breath, smirking at the irony of the situation.

"What?"

"Nothing."

They reached the end of the corridor to find a pair of grand double doors. There was still no sign of Ron or Hermione. Draco bit his lip. He'd told them to wait. They should've found them by now.

Harry seemed to read his thoughts. "Well?" he said, a hint of anxiousness in his voice. "Let's go."

He slipped around him and pushed the doors open.

There was a low groan as they swung slowly open. Draco had just enough time to take in the expensive furniture and ornate decorations of the drawing room before a jet of green light shot towards them.

"DOWN!" he bellowed, and they ducked; the spell missed them by inches. The room was filled with people. In two chairs before them, back-to-back, sat Ron and Hermione, tied up and gagged. They were surrounded by about twenty cloaked figures, each with wands drawn and pointed at the four intruders.

The Death Eaters raises their wands again, ready to strike, but Draco had a sudden idea. _"Diffindo!"_ he cried, pointing up at the chandelier dangling from the ceiling.

The chain snapped. It seemed to fall in slow motion, jewels glittering dangerously, before crashing down, sending sharp shards of glass and metal everywhere. They ducked, throwing their arms over their heads to protect themselves. In the room, the Death Eaters did the same. Ron and Hermione did their best with their wrists bound to their chairs.

When the dust settled, Harry, Draco, Ginny, and Luna didn't hesitate: they each rose their feet and started firing spell after spell at the Death Eaters. At first, a few went down, but the others were quickly recovering from their surprise. They fired back, and soon the drawing room was in shambles from an onslaught of spells.

Draco shot a _stupefy_ at one Death Eater, then a nasty puke-yellow colored spell he'd learned from a dog-eaten spellbook he'd found in the Restricted Section of the Hogwarts library. It hit its target, and a Death Eater fell to their knees, clawing at their chest in pain and discomfort. Their hood fell off: it was Macnair.

"Ha!" Draco shouted gleefully, but his exuberance was short livid as a ball of red light was thrown at him, Harry, Ginny, and Luna.

"Scatter!" Ginny yelled, and Draco dove to the left as the spell exploded, shattering the stone where he'd been standing only moments ago. Draco was thrown aside as the shockwave hit him, and he flew across the room, crashing painfully into the side of an armchair. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Harry's side and head connect with the corner of the fireplace; he fell to the floor and was motionless.

He got to his feet, groaning. To his right, Ginny and Luna seemed to be relatively unhurt. They were taking on at least ten opponents together, wands blurring as they dodged the curses falling upon them.

Draco turned away from them, rushing to help Harry. But he was only halfway there when a jet of light connected with his side: a Stinging Hex. He fell to the floor, wand flying out of his hand, and clutched his side in agony.

Panting, he raised his head to see a familiar face: Pansy Parkinson. She was sneering at him.

"Draco," she jeered, three other cloaked figures flanking her. She glanced in the direction Draco had been heading, her sneer widening when she saw his target.

"You know, when I was in your head I knew you liked him, but damn." She threw back her head and laughed. "How was the gay sex?"

He bared his teeth. "Shove off."

She laughed again. "Oh, by the way, how's Granger?" She twisted her face into a pout. "Is she still grieving?"

His wand was laying only a few feet from his left hand. "How'd you know?" he snarled, trying for time. "About her parents? How'd you know where to look?"

Pansy's smile widened, and the three other Death Eaters chuckled behind her. "Most people are much more willing to talk when under the Imperious Curse."

He sucked in a breath of air in surprise. "Neville."

"I'm sorry I had to do that to you, but it was most enjoyable to see his confusion. The bumbling idiot had it coming to him." She sniggered. "And besides, being with the Death Eaters has taught me so much."

"Good for you," Draco said sarcastically. As he spoke, he inched his hand for his wand. It was less than a foot away, if he could just—

Pansy's sneer vanished, replaced with a ferocious snarl. "It is. I am so much more powerful than I was before. And I know so much more." Suddenly, she gasped. "Oh! Is that the locket?"

He glanced down. He'd been wearing the locket under his shirt, but in the fight it had revealed itself, and it now rested above the fabric on his chest. He looked back up at Pansy.

"It's very pretty," she said, eyeing it hungrily. "I was never able to open it. Tell me, Draco, what's inside?"

"Nothing," he lied. "It's empty."

"Oh, I bet it isn't," she said with a smile. "Why don't I just— " She reached out a hand.

Draco scrambled back, and he was able to grab his wand. He hid it behind his back, now calculating when it would be best to strike. "Don't touch me!"

Pansy grinned. "I think I'll take it. Give it here, Malfoy."

"No!"

He scrambled back further, but she lunged, ripping it from his neck. The three Death Eaters behind her chuckled once more. He felt a bolt of terror. What if it did have magical powers? What if she figured out how to unlock them?

But nothing happened as she took it and hung it around her neck. He held back a sigh of relief.

"Thank you," she told him mockingly. "Now I've had enough of this. Kill him!"

His eyes widened as all four of them, Pansy included, advanced, raising their wands menacingly.

He raised his own. _"Accio!"_ he shouted, and there was a crash as Lucius Malfoy's ugly marble statue burst through the stone wall and bowled over the Death Eaters before him. Vaguely, he wondered if his father was here, but he pushed the thought out of his mind. Right now, Harry needed his help.

He ran the last half of the way to him, leaping over fallen debris as he did. He glanced once to his right to see Ginny and Luna taking out the last of the Death Eaters before rushing to untie Ron and Hermione. The side of Luna's face was bloody.

Draco reached Harry, crouching down beside him and pressing two fingers to his neck. Beneath it he felt the strong pulse of his heart. He sighed, leaning over him and raising his wand.

_"Renervate,"_ he murmured, and Harry's eyes fluttered open. He blinked rapidly, squeezing his eyes shut and then rubbing them frantically.

"Draco—?" he groaned, squinting at him. "What— "

"C'mon, Potter," he replied, grasping his arm and hauling him to his feet. Harry stood, swaying for a moment before quickly regaining his balance. He looked around at the wreckage surrounding them.

"What—what happened?" he asked blearily. "How long was I out?"

"Only a little while," he answered. "There was a fight."

Harry groaned again. "Sorry I missed it."

Draco rolled his eyes. "You've fought enough battles. I think you're excused from this one. Now come on."

He pulled him along, and they rushed to help the others.

"Hullo," was the first thing Ron said to them when they arrived, his gag having been removed by Luna.

Hermione simply clutched her arm and was silent. Harry looked at her worriedly, then glanced back at Ron. "What happened?"

"We were ambushed," Ron answered, rubbing his temples. "They took our wands—I think it was Macnair, if you want to check, Ginny—and bound us. Hermione— " He paused, gulping. "They hit her with something."

Harry stepped forward, reaching for her, and she gratefully melted into his arms, clutching him like her life depended on it. Tears leaked from her eyes.

Draco looked at his battered and broken friends. All in all, they were relatively unharmed, but it was clear that Hermione wasn't well enough to fight any longer, and blood still ran down Luna's face.

"Alright," he said, taking charge. "Luna, I need you to stick with Hermione and guard her. You two will stay at the back of the group. We have to keep moving."

Ginny furrowed her brow. "But why? What exactly are we looking for?"

He glared at her. "My mother, remember? Look, we took down Macnair, Pansy's out cold"—he pointed at each of their unconscious forms in turn— "but where's my father? Where's Albrecktsson? There are more Death Eaters here, I'm sure of it."

"But why haven't they come after us?" asked Ron. "I mean, they're bound to have heard all the racket. What're they waiting for?"

"It's a trap," said Harry.

"Definitely."

A silence fell among them. Draco's mind was whirling. If this was a trap, which it certainly was, what could they do?

"We need to talk to the Patils," he decided. "Maybe they can help."

"After your family has imprisoned them in the cellar for almost a year?" Harry asked dubiously. "I doubt it."

"We have to try." Draco looked around. "Here." He stooped and grabbed four wands. "We'll give these to them," he explained. "They may help us, they may not. Either way, they shouldn't be locked up anymore."

He didn't wait for them to reply. He strode from the room, pocketing the wands as he went, and marched out the doors and into a mercifully empty corridor, making for the cellar. After a moment of hesitation, the others followed.

He lit his wand when he came to the steep staircase leading to the cellar, carefully making his way down. The light waned the further he went down, and the temperature dropped as well. But he didn't stop until he reached the bottom.

He was immediately greeted with the faces of Parvati and Padma Patil behind the bars, their features illuminated by the light of his wand. Since he had last seen them, they appeared to have taken a beating: Parvati had a split lip and a long, shallow slice down her neck; Padma had a green-and-purple black eye.

"Harry?" Parvati breathed, eyes wide as she took him in. "Ron? Luna?"

"We have something for you," Harry told her, his voice soft and low. Draco reached into his pocket and brought out the wands, passing them to Padma. From the shadows, Mr. and Mrs. Patil appeared, gaping at the gift.

The family passed them out as Draco raised his own wand, pointing it at the cellar door. It swung open with a _click_, and the Patils emerged, moving slowly with shock.

Parvati gaped at him. "But I thought—I thought you said—you said you wouldn't let us out!"

Draco swallowed. "Yes."

"So then why are you letting us go?" asked Padma.

He hesitated. "Because even if the Ministry locks me up for this, you don't deserve staying here."

They gaped at him. "They would lock you up for letting us go?" Mr. Patil said, flummoxed.

"No. They would lock me up for you being kept here," he told them.

"But you didn't keep us here," Mrs. Patil argued. "You didn't know!"

He shook his head. "They won't care."

A silence fell as everyone stared at him with pity. He avoided their eyes.

At last, Harry broke the silence. "Here," he said, raising his wand. "I can heal those."

He started working on their wounds, siphoning off the blood and stitching them together. Padma sighed in relief as her bruise disappeared.

"We're wasting time," Draco said, turning away. The longer they stalled, the longer his mother had to wait, and the longer the Death Eaters had to hurt her.

Harry nodded in agreement. "Let's go."

They left, the Patils armed and ready. At the top of the steep steps, Draco looked left and right carefully, but saw no one. He turned left, quickly heading away from the destroyed drawing room.

They walked for a few minutes finding nothing and no one. Draco was starting to panic. If he didn't find his mother soon—

Before he could continue his trail of thought, there was a wand at his throat and hooded figures emerging from the shadows.

"Draco," said one in the voice of Lucius Malfoy, "it is so good to finally see you again."


	23. Chapter 22-Compromised

DRACO

With his friends trapped in the grips of several Death Eaters and his own father's wand digging painfully into his back, Draco didn't know what to do.

Immediately upon ambushing them, the Death Eaters had taken their wands. They were now held in the hands of one particularly burly-looking fellow, his (he could only assume they were a he) wide shoulders and bulging muscles evident even covered by his cloak. Draco watched him from out of the corner of his eye, attempting to at least glance beneath the Death Eater's hood, but could see nothing.

He let his father lead him through several halls in stony silence, broken only by the occasional scuffle as one of his friends tried to escape. His mind was racing frantically. What could they do? He could try to break free, but his father held him strong. He doubted he would be able to free even a finger. He tried to think of something else. Maybe he could cause a distraction? But how?

Before he could act, they were pushed and shoved into the dining room, where a blonde-haired woman sitting at the high seat of a long table wiped all thoughts of escape from his mind.

"Mum?" he gasped.

She rose from her chair at the sight of him, worry and anger etched upon her face. "Gedeon— "

"Sit down, Narcissa, or I will do what I did to you to your son," snapped a rough voice.

Anger curled in his gut as his mother gulped and sat at once, though her eyes remained fixated on him. As she moved, the light caught her face, and Draco could see several painful boils and gashes on her cheek. The anger in his gut flared.

He growled, turning to the man who'd spoken: Gedeon Albrecktsson, who was standing off to the side, a hood obscuring his features. "You crooked old hag— " Draco began, but he was cut off.

"Silence, Malfoy!"

A fist connected with his gut. He doubled over in pain, and yet still Lucius dragged him to the table. Behind him, he heard Luna gasp and Harry growl.

He blinked the stars from his eyes in time to see that he'd reached the table. Lucius released his hands, but now held him by the arm so tight that he was cutting off Draco's blood circulation.

"Sit," he snapped, jostling him roughly. When Draco didn't move, he pushed hard on his shoulder, forcing him down until he collided with the cold, hard chair. He grit his teeth and made a fist, yet he didn't move. He'd have to control himself if he wanted him, his mother, and his friends to get out of here in one piece.

He glanced around. He sat diagonal to his mother, mid-way down the long table while she occupied the head chair on his left. Albrecktsson stood across from him, leaning against the wall casually. His father stood behind him. Meanwhile, his friends and the Patils had not joined him at the table, and instead were being held tight in the doorway to his right, struggling to break free from the Death Eaters' tenacious grasps. At the front of the group was Harry, who was glaring murderously at both Lucius and Albrecktsson in turn.

"Calm down, Potter," Lucius said in his cool and calculating manner. "We just want to talk."

"Indeed." It was Albrecktsson. He at last removed his hood and moved into the light. At what must've been almost seven feet tall, he towered above everyone. He had hard eyes and graying hair. His jawline was strong, and his cheekbones high and defined. Nevertheless, he did not look regal, nor did he look battle-worn. In fact, he was simply—a man. He seemed business-like, but also had the air of a loving father, and he moved with grace and dignity. If Draco had not known who he was or what things he had done, he would never have imagined that this was the formidable Gedeon Albrecktsson that had orchestrated Muggle attacks, break-outs from Azkaban, and the captures of the Patils.

"Miss Brown," said Albrecktsson, sounding polite and scrupulous. "Would you please gather their wands?"

Draco stared. To Gedeon's right, a small Death Eater stepped forward and removed her hood to reveal the pale and terrified face of Lavender Brown. Yet her eyes held a sense of determination as she approached the burly Death Eater who held their wands.

Ron struggled harder. "Lavender," he rasped, "Lavender, look. They're fine." He titled his head towards the Patils. "You don't have to fight for them anymore!"

Lavender hesitated, her eyes flickering towards Ron.

"Lavender, I— "

_"Silencio!_" Albrecktsson hissed, and Ron was silent. "Now, Lavender, take them."

She swallowed, glancing once at Ron—who was struggling furiously against his curse—, but obeyed. The burly Death Eater held out the ten wands in one hand, and she took them into her arms, retreating quickly into the shadows.

"Now," Albrecktsson continued, his voice smooth and mellow, as though he had not a care in the world. "Narcissa, be a dear and fetch our little... gift."

Anger flashed in her eyes, but she stood and carried herself from the room with her shoulders back and her head held high. She was back in an instant, carrying in her arms a long, thin package. Draco's heart beat sped up. Behind him, his father shifted slightly.

Narcissa held out the package to Albrecktsson with a sharp jerk of her arm, shoving it roughly into his outstretched arms. He smiled at her.

"Thank you. That is all."

Narcissa sat once more, her lips pressed tight in an angry line. Albrecktsson's eyes glittered before he turned away, the package held carefully in both hands.

"What are you threatening her with?" Draco growled.

Albrecktsson smirked. "You, of course."

White-hot rage coursed through his veins. He snarled, standing angrily and baring his teeth, but it was useless; he was only pushed down once more.

"Draco," Albrecktsson said softly, meeting his eyes. They held each other's gaze, and Draco found himself inexplicably unable to look away. "You've come a long way."

He grit his teeth. "You didn't give me much of a choice," he hissed.

Albrecktsseon dipped his head slightly. "Indeed. But let's not fool around any longer. The act's up. We both know what you're really here for, and it isn't your mother."

Then, from behind him, came a faint murmur, so soft he couldn't distinguish the words. But suddenly every angry thought floated from his mind, every worry and puzzlement flew out the window, and he was immersed in complete bliss, everything seeming to be far, far away...

_Say, I'm here for what you promised me,_ said a voice in the back of his mind. _Just, I'm here for what you promised me. Say it._

"I'm here for what you promised me," he said aloud, though he barely noticed it. His voice seemed to issue from the other end of a long tunnel. Who cared about Albrecktsson and his mother anyway? The only thing that mattered was what was in that box.

Albrecktsson smiled widely at that. "Yes. Well, if you're sure Draco... " His voice, too, was distant.

_I'm sure,_ came the voice in his head again.

"I'm sure."

His mother was looking at him like she'd never seen him before, but he didn't care. It was warm and cozy here, in the depths of his mind, and he never wanted to leave.

Albrecktsson frowned suddenly. "But you do understand what this will mean for your mother and your friends? If I give this to you, I cannot guarantee their protection."

"Guarantee our protection?" a shrill, fierce voiced asked. It was Ginny, reminding Draco that she and the others were still in the room. He'd almost forgotten... oh, well.

"What's going on?" said Padma, her voice trembling. "Malfoy?"

_I don't care about their protection. Just give me what you promised._

"I don't care about their protection. Just give me what you promised." The words sounded a little strange coming out of his mouth. He frowned, but shook it off. He was sure that if it was important, the Voice would tell him.

_Good._

His friends seemed to be holding their breath as Albrecktsson approached Draco, opening the box.

"For you," he said, and he handed the Elder Wand to him.

Draco stood to receive it, and this time his father let him. He rolled it in his palm, marveling at its power. What he could do with it... He would be almost invincible...

"Draco—?" It was Harry. Draco turned to him, a smile gracing his lips. He was so, so happy—

_Hurt him. The Severing Charm._

_"Diffindo!"_

There were gasps as the spell was cast, cutting a deep gash in Harry's flesh below his cheekbone. Harry yelped in pain and surprise, and Draco was suddenly overwhelmed with how wrong it was for him to hurt Harry like that... He should stop...

_No! You answer to me, Draco. You'll do as I say! You want that wand, don't you? Good! Then do what I tell you!_

Within moments, he sank back down into warm bliss.

* * *

HARRY

The gash in his cheek hurt, but he ignored it, distracted by far worse things. Firstly, the most powerful wand in existence was fully available to the Death Eaters with no qualms about killing them. And for another, Draco's eyes were glazed and vacant, like an empty shell.

_Imperioused,_ Harry thought, his heart beating in his throat. He could see no way out.

His only comfort was that Draco was not the true master of the Elder Wand; he had not beat its last owner. But neither was Harry, he realized, instinctively glancing at the burly Death Eater standing in the corner. He'd disarmed him, he'd beat him—whether he or the Death Eaters knew it or not, he was its master.

Albrecktsson was talking again, and Harry quickly snapped himself back to the present.

"You see, Narcissa? He speaks of rejecting the Dark Lord, but he enjoys doing his work! Ah—the Dark Lord always wanted to kill the great Harry Potter, and now, at least, we have the power to do so!" His calm and mellow tone was beginning to irritate Harry more than his actual plot to defeat them. "And you, Draco, you'll enjoy killing him, won't you?"

"Don't listen to him," Harry snapped, speaking quickly. "Can't you see he's— "

Before he could say anything more, the Death Eater behind him snarled, _"Silencio!"_ and he was forced to be silent, his mouth still working but no sound coming out. He glared at Albrecktsson with all the force he could muster, but the man just chuckled.

_You stupid old hag!_ he thought visciously. _You spineless, pathetic—_

Albrecktsson turned away from him, causing his anger to surge even more. He struggled against his captor's grasp, but they held firm. He was powerless.

Narcissa spoke. "How did—how did you know what he said? About rejecting the Dark Lord?" She stared at him in horror. "Have you been spying on us?"

Albrecktsson's lips curved up into a cruel smile, but he only said, "Draco! Why don't you give that wand back to me, and I'll be sure to keep it nice and safe. In the meantime, you may use your own... "

Albrecktsson gestured at Lavender, who tossed him Draco's hawthorn wand. While they exchanged wands, Ginny spoke quietly from beside Harry, her words barely audible. He tried hard not to turn his attention to her. She was talking to Lavender, who was standing only a few feet away, her face pale and drawn.

"Lavender," she said in a low voice, "you can stop this. You can help us. Please, just give us back a wand, just one— "

Lavender screamed, a sound so sudden and hoarse that Harry jumped a mile. Albrecktsson whipped around, the Elder Wand in his hand. Even some of the Death Eaters started.

Heart beating wildly, Harry suddenly realized that Lavender was forming words with the sounds that were spewing from her mouth. It was hard to tell.

"SAYS YOU!" she screeched, spit flying everywhere. "SAYS THE GIRL WHO TEASED ME AND RIDICULED ME ALL BECAUSE I WAS PRETTY! AND _YOU!"_ She jabbed a thumb into Ron's solar plexus, making him wheeze. "YOU HUMILIATED ME! YOU CHOSE GRANGER AFTER EVERYTHING WE SHARED TOGETHER! BUT I ALWAYS KNEW YOU'D RUN OFF TO HER. YOU ALWAYS LOVED DULL FREAKS!"

Ron bared his teeth, limited by the Silencing Charm that still worked against him, but Lavender wasn't finished. Behind her, Albrecktsson looked on with pride.

"I HAVE SPENT YEARS AS THE SECOND-RATE, FOOLISH PUSHOVER EVERY BOY WAS DYING TO GET HIS HANDS ON. I ENDURED IT FOR SEVEN YEARS, SEVEN _YEARS_—DO YOU KNOW WHAT THAT'S LIKE? DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA— "

Parvati was sobbing, tears flowing in streams down her cheeks. "Lavender, please! This isn't you! Please, stop!"

"You should've been there for me," Lavender panted, her eyes flashing in anger and something else. "You should've helped!"

"I'm sorry, I didn't know!" Parvati cried, desperation and despair coating her words. _"Please!"_

_"Enough!"_ Albrecktsson cried, intervening. "We didn't come to discuss petty feuds— "

Lavender looked at him incredulously. _"Petty feuds?"_ she repeated. "How could you! You said you sympathized, you said— "

She didn't even have time to flinch. There was a _bang_ and a flash of light, and Parvati screamed as Lavender flew across the room, slammed into the wall, and then fell to the floor, out cold.

"I've had enough of that nonsense," Albrecktsson hissed, stepping forward, the Elder Wand in his hands. For a moment, Harry saw anger and hatred in his eyes, and understood in that instant why he'd been chosen to lead. But his mellow demeanor was back within seconds. "Now, to the _real_ reason why we're here—Potter!"

_For Merlin's sake!_

He was forced to step forward by the Death Eater holding him. Jerked roughly to a stop just before Albrecktsson, he glared up at him and spat in his face. Albrecktsson scrunched his nose in disgust and wiped it away with the back of his hand.

"That wasn't very kind," he said to Harry. "Perhaps we ought to teach you manners before we question you. _Finite_."

The Silencing Charm was removed, yet rage coiled in his gut. He was reminded of what Voldemort had once told him in the graveyard: _Dumbledore would like you to show manners... Bow to death, Harry..._

"Take the Curse off him, and you won't need to," he snarled, jerking his head towards Draco.

Albrecktsson raised a single brow. "Ah! Clever boy. But I'm afraid the Curse wasn't meant for you and your friends, Potter."

He was taken aback. Who was it meant for then? His mind reach a single conclusion, and his rage was replaced with dread. "The Ministry."

"Indeed." Albrecktsson smiled coldly. "You didn't honestly think we would reveal ourselves so carelessly? The Ministry of Magic will come to the Manor to find Draco Malfoy and his mother guilty of the imprisonment of the Patils and your deaths. Perhaps we'll throw in the Mudblood's parents, too." He tilted his head towards Hermione.

"You killed them," Harry growled. "Not Pansy and Blaise."

Albrecktsson grinned. "You thought they had the guts to do that? No. They simply passed on the information to someone who could, and I was happy to send out a few of my followers to do the work."

Harry felt sick. Behind him, there was a disturbance; Ron was fighting to extract himself from his captor's grasp, the expression on his face murderous. Albrecktsson chuckled.

"Calm down, boy. I hope you know that your girlfriend's parents' deaths was nothing personal. At any rate, with so many murders, that's enough to lock Draco and Narcissa away for" —he pondered it for a moment— "a decade or two, I suppose?"

"You bitch!" Narcissa cried, rising from her chair, her eyes burning in anger. "You loathsome cow!"

"That's enough, dear," said Albrecktsson. With a flick of his wrist, he muttered a spell and she was forced down, secured against the chair by some invisible force.

She growled. "You will never get away with this," she told him haughtily, lifting her chin.

He just smiled before flicking his wand again; Narcissa was silent.

"Now, Potter," he said, turning to him. "I have a few questions for you. I'd like you to answer them honestly."

"What a surprise," Harry said under his breath.

"What was that?"

"Nothing."

Albrecktsson's eyes glittered. "Good. Well then." He raised his wand again, and Harry found himself pinned to a chair, similar to Narcissa. He twisted in his new seat, but his invisible binds wouldn't give. He was trapped.

Albrecktsson approached him lazily, relishing in the sight of him struggling against his bonds. Harry only stopped moving when the Death Eater placed two hands on the chair's armrests and leaned uncomfortably close, his nose only inches away from Harry's face. He had to cross his eyes to see him properly.

"First!" he said, smiling down on him serenely with light-blue eyes, another stark contrast to the man's cruel personality. "We'll start with a simple question, Potter." His teeth seemed to gleam in the light. "How was it that you managed to defeat the Dark Lord?"

Harry raised his brows. He'd been asked that question before... Pansy and Blaise had attempted to torture it out of him in the Room of Requirement.

"I already told Pansy and Blaise," he answered evenly. "Voldemort killed himself."

Surprise flitted across Albrektsson's features momentarily, but it was gone in an instant. He leaned back slightly. "Liar."

Harry shook his head, causing Albrecktsson to bare his teeth.

"How is that possible?" he cried angrily. "How can that be?"

Harry smirked. "I dunno, why don't you ask him?"

Albrecktsson's expression darkened. He stuck him across the jaw before leaning close once more, unamused.

"How is it possible," he gritted out, his breath brushing across Harry's face. He smelled of hair product and burnt plastic, and his breath of lime. It was a strange combination.

"It was his own arrogance and stupidity that did him in," Harry told him, blinking his eyes back into focus and tilting his nose away so that the strange stench emanating from him was less potent.

He didn't like that. He grabbed Harry by the jaw and turned his head towards him, holding him painfully tight. Harry squirmed.

"And how, pray tell, was he foolish?" Albrecktsson probed.

Harry tightened his jaw. He could not under any circumstances tell Albrecktsson about Horcruxes. It would be detrimental. What if he decided to make some of his own? Harry didn't want another Voldemort on his hands.

His mind racing, he quickly thought of an excuse. "He thought that, with the Elder Wand, he was invincible. But he didn't think of" —An idea took form in his head— "didn't think to guard himself from Muggle technology."

It took a while for Albrecktsson to process what he'd said. When he did, he gaped at Harry. "What on earth— "

Harry, confidence surging, smirked. "We poisoned Lord Voldemort with a deadly dose of Polonium."

Albrecktsson stared at him, at loss for words. Behind him, Ron coughed.

Absolute silence fell. The entire room held its breath as Albrecktsson kept staring at him blankly, long enough for Harry's smirk to fade and his heart to beat faster. Finally, the Death Eater roared, _"Liar!"_

He surged forward, arms outstretched, and wrapped his hands around Harry's neck. Harry choked, clawing at Albrecktsson's arms and gasping for breath, but it was no use; his grip was too tight. Slowly, painfully, he lost all air. His lungs screamed. The room swam around him.

_I suppose this is the end,_ he thought to himself.

But just as he was about to lose consciousness, Albrecktsson released him. Harry gasped, gulping down several lungfuls of air, his throat aching. Blinking rapidly, he looked around.

Spells were bouncing everywhere, off the walls, furniture, and more. The Death Eaters were suddenly fighting with all their might. Turning, he saw why: Witches and Wizards in Ministry robes were flooding into the room, wands out and flashing. Harry gaped at them. How on earth had the Ministry found them? How did they know?

He felt a hand on his shoulder; he started. Twisting in his seat, he saw Draco Malfoy, his eyes clear and focused, brandishing his hawthorn wand.

_"Relashio!"_ he cried, and Harry was free. He stood unsteadily, still feeling woozy from almost being strangled to death.

"Draco?" he asked hesitantly, unsure if he was free from the curse or if Harry was just hallucinating.

Draco nodded. "It's me. I shook it off when he was choking you."

Harry sighed in relief. Then his words sank in.

"Hang on... when I was being strangled, you were able to fight the curse off... for me?"

A slight blush tinted Draco's cheeks. "What was I supposed to do, let you die?"

Harry gave him a sheepish grin.


	24. Chapter 23-The War is Over

HARRY

A long time went by with Harry simply gazing at Draco happily. At long last, Draco turned away from him, his ears bright red from embarrassment. "Stop looking at me like that, Potter. You're like a proud mother."

Harry kept looking at him. Draco punched his shoulder. "Potter, there's a battle going on."

Except there wasn't. One by one, the Death Eaters had fallen, until there were only two left standing, then one. Gedeon Albrecktsson had been one of the first to be taken out.

Harry cast a long glance at his friends. They seemed wholly unharmed. In fact, Hermione was the only one who appeared to have been cursed in any way; she was clutching Ron's shirt as if her very life depended on it, still being affected by whatever nasty spell she'd been hit with. Ron had an arm wrapped around her protectively.

As the last Death Eater fell, Harry crossed the room to her. Behind him, Draco raced to his mother.

"You alright, Hermione?" Harry asked worriedly.

She simply stared at him with wide, fearful eyes.

"She won't let go," Ron explained, tightening his grip around her. "I dunno what spell it was, but it was strong."

Hermione pressed closer to him as if to emphasize his point.

There was a sound of commotion behind them. Harry turned to see the Ministry officials confronting a pair of proud figures: Narcissa and Draco. He hurried over.

"—ought to lock you up, Death Eater scum— "

"We're not with them!" Draco cried, pleading.

"Oh, I'm sure," snarled a tall, formidable-looking woman, raising her wand. "_Incarce_— "

"No! Stop!" Harry ran forward and forced her wand-arm down before she could finish casting the spell. "They're with me."

She gaped at him. "What? But these are Death Eaters— "

Harry shook his head. "No. Not anymore."

The woman's beetle-black eyes flashed.

"You're delusional, Potter!" a wizard shouted, a brown-haired, rather mousy-looking man. "These two have been caught at the scene of the crime, stand aside!"

But Harry stood firm. "No. She" —He pointed at Narcissa— "was held captive by the Death Eaters. And he" —He moved his finger slightly to the left— "came with us to save her."

"I didn't see any binds," the Wizard sneered. "How was she held captive, then?"

Narcissa snarled at him. "It's called 'threats' you dim-witted buffoon!"

"Threats!" The wizard laughed. "Likely story!"

"It's quite alright, Mr. Kleinship, I can vouch for them," came a curt voice.

Harry turned; his jaw dropped. Striding towards them was Professor Minerva McGonagall, looking ready to kill. Harry struggled to find his voice.

"P-Professor! Er—what on earth—?"

"I got Miss Granger's call," she answered smartly. "I decided to come with backup."

"Hermione's call—?" Then it came to him. "The patronus she sent—that was for you?"

McGonagall gave him a small smile. "Indeed, Potter."

His mouth was hanging open stupidly. Noticing this, he quickly closed it and nodded.

"I'll handle this Potter, Mrs. Malfoy," she continued. "Why don't you join your friends?"

They nodded and hurried from the scene, careful to avoid the angry eyes that followed them. Soon, they'd joined Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and Luna, who were all huddled together. The Patils had gathered around the unconscious form of Lavender Brown.

Ginny approached them as they neared, holding out a wand: Harry's. He took it with a quick, "Thanks."

She smiled at him, but then frowned. "Harry—can we talk? When we get back to Hogwarts?"

He nodded. Between Draco and Luna, they definitely had much to talk about. "Of course."

She smiled again, wide and grateful. Draco tugged on his sleeve.

"We need to talk to the Patils," he murmured in Harry's ear, an urgency in his tone. Harry raised his brows, but nodded.

"Be right back, Ginny... "

He followed Draco, who approached the Patils cautiously. When he was behind them, he cleared his throat to get their attention.

Four heads turned to him, and eight eyes snapped to his, watching him expectantly. He gulped.

"Er—are you alright?" Draco began tentatively, brows creasing.

Parvati raised her brows. "Yes. Why?"

"Well, I just— " He gulped. "This is going to sound horrible, but—can you lie to the Ministry?"

Suddenly, Harry understood why Draco wanted him there.

Parvati's brows, if possible, crept even higher. "Lie about what?" she said, a warning in her tone.

Harry quickly stepped in. "Look, Draco didn't know you were locked here. And his mother was being threatened with his life. So— "

"So you want us to protect them," Mr. Patil finished for him.

Harry bit his lip. "Yeah."

It sounded horrible, he knew, and so did Draco, but amazingly Padma seemed to be considering it. Mrs. Patil, however, bared her teeth at them.

"There's no way in hell," she snarled. "You can go fu— "

"Enough, Riya!" Mr. Patil interrupted, and she fell silent, glaring murderously. Draco took a deep breath.

"Look, I'm sorry. Really, I am," he told them. "But I couldn't let you out when I first found you. My mother would've been locked in Azkaban."

"And good riddance!" snapped Parvati.

"But didn't you hear? She was being threatened!" Draco cried, pleading with his eyes.

"I could hardly care less," she shot back viscously.

Draco broke off, his mouth opening and closing but no words coming out. Harry's mind was racing. How could he convince them?

"D'you know why Lavender was working for the Death Eaters?" he asked slowly.

Mrs. Patil nodded. "Of course. She was being threatened."

"Exactly! She was being threatened with your life, your husband's life, and your daughters' lives. She cared about you so much, she did everything that was asked of her to protect you all from harm."

Mr. Patil frowned. "But that's not the same— "

"How?" Harry asked him. "How is it not the same? Lavender did horrible things under the Death Eaters' orders. She lied and hurt and stole and Merlin knows what else. She even got the Death Eaters into Hogwarts itself! And you know how she did it? She summoned them through a mirror that shows you your _greatest desire._ Her desire to keep you safe was so strong it summoned _Death Eaters_ into Hogwarts!"

He paused there, taking a deep breath, before barreling on.

"My point is that Lavender did everything she could to protect you. Narcissa and Draco did the same. They both did bad things, terrible things, to keep the other safe. But Draco got you out, didn't he? He didn't abandon you. You're free now!"

Draco nodded in agreement. "When I said that you wouldn't stay there, I meant it. I was never going to leave you."

The Patils were silent. Draco sighed.

"Look, I'm not asking you to forgive me. You can leave this place hating me and my mum and you'll never have to see either of us again. But I'm begging you, please, just don't tell the Ministry." He looked at them, making eye contact with puppy-dog eyes. "Please."

Mrs. Patil regarded him with a flat look. Harry held his breath as silence fell.

At last, she said, "If we agree to this, if we agree—what would we tell them?"

Draco shrugged. "I dunno... You were kept in an abandoned warehouse and escaped? But then—the Death Eaters caught up with you, and you Apparated to the first safe place you could think of: Hogwarts. We—as in Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Luna, and I—snuck out late. We found you, and we went with you to the Manor."

Mrs. Patil nodded. Mr. Patil looked at her with horror.

"Riya," he said urgently, "you're not seriously considering— "

"Ranjit, love, I am."

He gaped. "But— "

"No." It was Padma. She was examining Draco with interest, searching his expression so thoroughly it was as if she were counting freckles (not that he had any). "I think Mum's right. We should at least try."

Parvati was shaking her head disbelievingly. "No. Absolutely not. Mum, really— "

Mrs. Patil cut her off with a wave of her hand and stared Draco down. "You understand that if we ever get a reason to turn you in, we will."

He nodded vigorously. "Of course."

"And you will not bother us ever again. With anything."

"Yes. I mean—I won't."

Mrs. Patil pursed her lips. "Then we have a deal."

"Mum!"

"Thank you. That's—thank you."

"You can leave now."

"Yes, ma'am."

Draco ducked his head and then hurried from the scene, Harry following suit. Mrs. Patil watched them as they went, ignoring the horrorstruck looks from her husband and daughter, and only broke her gaze when Lavender Brown stirred.

* * *

Light shone off the lake at Hogwarts Castle as exams came ever nearer, and Hermione, stuck in the Hospital Wing, was panicking. After the events of Malfoy Manor, she was gradually regaining her sense of self due Madam Pomfrey's excellent care. When Harry, Ron, Hermione, Draco, Ginny, and Luna stumbled through her doors, it only took her a moment to decipher that Hermione had been hit with a nasty Omnetimens Curse, otherwise known as the Spell of Fear.

"It causes its victim to fear everything," she'd explained as she pried Hermione's fingers off the folds of Ron's coat. Harry suddenly understood why her eyes were darting to every corner and shadow. "But sometimes," Madam Pomfrey continued, "if they trust someone enough, they'll attach themselves to them." She looked pointedly at Ron.

Ron swelled with pride at this, causing Draco to snicker.

"She loves you, Weasley," he said, smirking. "Congratulations! In other news, the sky is blue! Can you believe it?"

Ron shot him a withering look.

Madam Pomfrey healed Luna's head and all their various other nicks and scratches in an instant. She then proceeded to shoo them to their dormitories.

"How long will it take to heal Hermione?" Ron asked anxiously and she ushered them out.

"Several weeks, Weasley," Madam Pomfrey responded curtly. "This is a complicated curse. Now out!"

Harry knew better than to protest.

The days after that passed as if nothing had happened. Lavender Brown returned to Hogwarts a week later with a full pardon, although she was to be under house arrest for a few months as soon as she returned home from school. She kept her head down and did her work in silence, her eyes red-rimmed and haunted. Harry felt bad for her. He was beginning to realize just how similar her and Narcissa's cases were, and he felt as if she'd gotten the rotten end of the deal.

Amazingly enough, Mrs. Patil had kept her word and lied to the Ministry through her teeth about where her family had been held. Harry knew how lucky Draco was. Having heard his bleak tone when he'd told him about what the Ministry would likely do to him and his mother if they ever found out the truth, he privately felt that they'd narrowly dodged a Curse that would come to take its revenge later. But for now he pushed those thoughts away, acutely aware that Draco was doing the same. Neither of them wanted to imagine what would follow if the Ministry ever knew the truth.

Classes went on as usual, and Ron had made it his job to collect homework for Hermione to complete when she was well enough. With exams fast approaching, they all knew that she would panic, despite their assurances that she could do the bare minimum of work and still get an 'Outstanding' in every class.

Which is exactly what she was doing now.

Her breaths came out in short, sharp gasps as she gaped at Ron in horror. "Exams are in _three weeks?"_

Ron bit his lip. "Yeah."

"Oh, Melin help me!"

She dragged a stack of papers towards her and was quickly engrossed.

"Er—Hermione?" Ron probed tentatively.

She ignored him, instead reaching for a quill, almost spilling her ink bottle in her haste.

"We'll—we'll just go."

She hummed in agreement, not taking her eyes off her paper.

They backed out awkwardly, closing the doors to the Hospital Wing with a soft _thud_. Despite having just been kicked out of the room by his girlfriend, Ron grinned sheepishly.

"Hermione's back."

Harry laughed.

* * *

"We've a lot to talk about."

Harry snorted. "That's an understatement."

Ginny grinned widely, but it soon wavered. "Are you mad at me?"

"I'd be a hypocrite to be, since I'm currently snogging Draco."

Ginny dropped the stack of books she was carrying in shock. _"What?!"_

At her shout, Madam Pince swooped in like a vulture. _"Shhh!"_

"Sorry!" Ginny lowered her voice dramatically, hurriedly picking up her books as she spoke. "You're not serious?"

Harry smirked. "Ask him."

"Oh, Merlin!" She gaped at him. "I suppose I'm allowed to snog Luna, then?"

"Have at it."

They dumped their books on a deserted table near a window. Ginny slumped in her seat as she took in the mountain of work they had to do.

"I don't think I'm going to survive these exams," she moaned fitfully.

Harry rolled his eyes. "You survived _Voldemort_. You can do anything."

She rubbed her temples. "Yeah. Anything but exams."

Harry opened his mouth to argue, but found that he didn't have the energy to. He sighed. "Yeah, I think you might be right."

"I'm always right."

In unison, they bent over to complete the torture that was their homework.

* * *

Amazingly quickly, Hermione's own pile of assignments had disappeared, and she'd calmed down significantly. Harry stared at her in astonishment when he next walked into the Hospital Wing to visit her with Ron and Draco.

"How on earth— "

"Hi!" she greeted them brightly, a wide smile on her face. Slowly, they approached her as if in a trance.

"You—you're talking," said Ron. "And not about exams."

She nodded. "I finished all my essays. Do you think you could turn them in for me, Ron? I'd do it myself, but— " She gestured at her bedridden self to emphasize her point. "Tell the Professors that I'm sorry I didn't finish them earlier."

They gaped at her. "You were unconscious, Granger!" Draco exclaimed.

She waved him off. "So, how are things?"

There was a beat of silence before Ron spoke, clearing his throat.

"Well, erm, everything's normal. Attacks on Muggles have stopped, all the Death Eaters have been imprisoned, and the Patils are safe. And, er—I can't remember much more." He looked to Harry and Draco for help.

"Blaise has vanished," Draco said. "I told the Ministry that he helped us, and they're leaving him alone for now. He might be questioned, but he'll avoid Azkaban. Pansy, meanwhile— " Draco sneered. "She's been sentenced to five years."

Hermione nodded. "And your mother?"

Draco gulped. "She's fine. Drinking again, but fine."

Harry looked at him apologetically. "You know, you don't have to go back there. I have a house—er, my Godfather's house. It's a bit creepy, but— "

Draco shook his head. "I'll be fine. But—I'll keep that in mind."

Hermione turned to Harry. "McGonagall moved the Mirror of Erised," she said meaningfully. "She came to visit me yesterday. I thought you should know."

Harry nodded, relief spreading throughout his entire body. "Good. Er—what about your father?" he asked Draco.

He sneered. "Locked up with the others. He's been given a life sentence now. Good riddance." He glared at the lamp on Hermione's nightstand as if it had insulted him.

"C'mon, you can't really mean that," said Ron.

Draco snapped his gaze to him, narrowing his eyes. "Why not?"

"He's your father! Sure, he's a bastard, but he's still your old man! You used to idol the guy, for Merlin's sake."

"Well, _Weasley_, things change. Is that too hard for your tiny brain to understand?"

"That's enough," Harry interrupted, stepping between them.

Reluctantly, they stopped bickering, but that didn't keep them from giving each other sideways glares. Harry sighed.

"What about the Elder Wand?" he asked, more as a distraction than anything.

"McGonagall returned it to Dumbledore's grave," Hermione replied. "It's safe. As long as no one finds it, its power will die as planned."

"And Albrecktsson?" Harry asked. "How long is he getting in Azkaban?"

"A life sentence," said Draco.

"Good," Ron growled.

A relieved silence fell amongst the four friends just as Madam Pomfrey bustled out of her office and shooed them away.

"I promise to bring you more homework, 'Mione," Ron assured her just before he left.

Hermione gave him a grateful smile.

* * *

Hermione was out of the Hospital Wing the next day. The last week before exams was gone in a flash, and exams themselves went by in a flurry of stress and worry. When they were finally finished, Harry left the potions test feeling that he at least scraped by with an 'Acceptable'. At this point, that was all he could ask for and more.

He and Draco found themselves relaxing by the edge of the lake under the shade of his, Ron's, and Hermione's favorite beach tree. Harry sat with his back against its trunk, looking out at the lake and watching some other students celebrating the end of exams by petting the Giant Squid. Draco was laying next to him, limbs splayed and his head resting on his arms, face pointed up at the sky and his eyes shut. He was the picture of serenity, and Harry smiled softly as he looked at him, watching as a few loose stands of his now white-blond hair fluttered in the breeze.

"Your blue's completely gone," he said, slightly disappointed.

"It's been gone for a while." Draco opened one eye and smirked at him. "Bloody hell, you're oblivious."

He narrowed his eyes at him, but Draco's were already closed again. Harry sighed. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a familiar face; Erin, who smiled cheekily and gave him a thumbs up. Harry rolled his eyes, but grinned.

"I'm sorry."

Harry looked away from Erin, frowning at Draco's words. "What?"

Draco opened his eyes, turning his head towards him. "I said I'm sorry for suggesting to poison Weas—Ron with Veritaserum. I—I was being a fool."

Harry's expression softened and he smiled, a pressure in his chest lifting. "And I'm sorry for what I said. You're family's not all Death Eaters."

Draco shook his head. "No. They are. But thank you."

Draco relaxed once more, closing his eyes. Silence fell between them, but it wasn't awkward, and they both had the slightest trace of a smile gracing their features. Harry looked out over the lake, admiring the way the sun caught in its waters. The world truly was a beautiful place with Draco Malfoy beside him, not as an enemy, not a friend, but something more. A—Dare he think it?—boyfriend. The word seemed strange, but also felt very right.

"You know," said Draco, causing Harry to look back at him, "I still wonder how you knew where the Slytherin Common Room was."

He stared at him blankly for a moment, struggling to remember what he was talking about. At last, he realized what it was, and he was overcome with a fit of laughter.

"Oh, you mean when we got the locket? Well, in second year we, er—we thought you were the Heir of Slytherin. So we disguised ourselves as Crabbe and Goyle using the Polyjuice Potion and questioned you."

Draco sat up and gaped at him. "I'm sorry, I must've misheard you. You did this in what year, again?"

Harry gave him a sheepish grin. "Second."

"You bastard," Draco murmured. Then, louder this time, he said, "You bastard!"

Harry laughed and gray eyes met green, staying that way for a long while. Finally, Harry murmured, "Kiss me."

Draco tensed and raised his brows. "In front of all these people?"

Harry gulped uncertainly, his heart thumping loudly in his chest. "It's going to get out somehow anyway."

Draco gulped, casting a nervous glance around. Harry, losing his nerve and sensing Draco's reluctance, shook his head and leaned back against the tree trunk.

"Never mind. It's fine, you don't have to— "

He was interrupted by Draco leaning close. They kissed. Every thought was wiped from Harry's mind as their lips brushed together, feather-light yet somehow intense at the same time. Harry hummed in satisfaction, closing his eyes and treading his fingers through Draco's soft hair. He hardly noticed the shocked gasps of the students surrounding them as he sank into complete bliss. In the end, it was just him and Draco against the world.

When they finally separated, they exchanged small smiles. Ignoring the many gobsmacked expressions around them, Draco shifted and lay his head on Harry's shoulder. Harry wrapped an arm around his waist, and together they gazed out at the lake and the glittering sunlight that bounced off it.

The scene truly captured nature's beauty, Harry thought, and he smiled and closed his eyes, giving Draco a little squeeze. This, right here, was all he ever needed.

The war was over, and Harry Potter had never felt safer.

* * *

**Thank you so much for sticking with me to the end!**

**I started this story years ago (I think, I'm not sure about the exact timeline), but I was not satisfied with what I had planned then. My original idea was a slow, really boring work, with nothing exciting—no action, no suspense, and no plot. And as someone who can't stand books like that, I had to fix it.**

**So, I revised my previous work and came up with this. I've always had the idea that after the war there would still be Death Eaters of a kind—people who believed in Voldemort's ideas and wanted them to become a reality, but never actively joined Voldemort's ranks. Like the Black family, they weren't Death Eaters, but they appreciated Voldemort's work and thought he had the right mindset.**

**While parseltonquinq's Tumblr prompt did inspire my story, I wouldn't say this was entirely based off their idea; it just sparked enough creativity in my mind to begin the story. But a big thanks to them for that, because otherwise I would never have made this story at all!**

**Anyway, thank you so much to everyone who read this, and a big thank you to all my returning readers! You guys have no idea how excited I am when I see all the new readers that I keep getting. I am happy to share my ideas with any number of people, whether that be one or six million!**

**Yours truly,  
****GodIsGayQueenB**

**P.s. Check out my profile to see the new stories I will be writing, including a Percy Jackson/Harry Potter crossover centered entirely on Alex Fierro, as well as a fanfiction for the popular Netflix show _The Politician_ about how Payton Hobart is the mastermind behind making same-sex marriage legal in the United States of America!**


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